Shining Armor
by KarotsaMused
Summary: COMPLETE! A couple of thieves have found out about a swordfighting tournament with an alluring prize... (eventual KH)
1. Thieves

A/N: Mandatory disclaimer: I don't own Yu Yu Hakusho or anything affiliated. I swear ^.^  
  
Welcome to my second attempt at humor (My Discworld fic, "Courtship Roulette," keeps getting reviews like "I laughed but I'm not sure I was supposed to..." .) and this time it involves the gang from Yu Yu Hakusho!  
  
This should be interesting...  
  
AU: This is set in England, though I'm not even going to try for a time period. Sort of medieval-esque but without the flowery language, because I just can't deal with dialogue like that. Think Yu Yu Hakusho meets Robin Hood: Men in Tights. And then you've sort of got it.  
  
Reviews always welcome ^.^  
  
***  
  
He grimaced at the parchment shoved into his hands. "You can't seriously be thinking of entering this, Kuwabara." His long, red hair was tied into a ponytail that hung long down his back. His clothes hung from his frame, having not been fitted for him personally. A belt of frayed rope remedied the situation well enough. The hilt of a knife pressed into his calf, held by his bootstraps. Other, smaller knives rested in the wrists of his gloves - worn at the fingertips from much textile abuse - and in the band securing his hair.  
  
His companion grinned widely and grabbed the piece right back, brushing his ruddy, orange curls from his eyes with haughty annoyance. "Why wouldn't I? I'm set to win it, man!" He thrust one fist into the air, startling a merchant woman next to him so badly she dropped an entire basketful of turnips. Kuwabara walked on, unnoticing. "And look, there's money too!" He blinked. The parchment had disappeared.  
  
"Huh. Well what do you know." Kuwabara whirled to find his companion leaning comfortably against a stall. He patted the muzzle of a grizzled mare as his bright, green eyes flicked over his stolen prize. "Swordfighting, huh? First place, hand of the king's daughter and..."  
  
"Hey! Kurama! Give that back! I found it fair and square!" Kuwabara waved a finger under Kurama's nose, the dirt crescents under his fingernails easily visible.  
  
Kurama raised a demure eyebrow and acquiesced, but not without memorizing a certain monetary value with more zeroes than he'd ever before dreamt of. He ruffled the mare's gray mane and set into an easy stroll between the merchant carts. "Well, Kuwabara, this sounds like a good idea."  
  
"Damn straight!" Kuwabara, freshly vindicated, walked with a slight bounce to his heavy steps. The worn heels of his boots sent up little puffs of dust.  
  
"I only wonder," Kurama continued, "how we're going to get all the way from Hereford to Nottingham in time for the tournament." He pulled an apple from atop a heap and bit in, spitting out a mouthful of rotten flesh. He scowled at the fermented thing and pitched it over his shoulder.  
  
Kuwabara's face fell and he pulled the parchment so close to his eyes his nose made a visible dent on the other side. "Walk?"  
  
Kurama rolled his eyes and snatched the parchment from his travelling companion. "It's two weeks' walk if we rush. That would leave us less than a month to prepare."  
  
He stopped and turned to look over his shoulder. Kuwabara had frozen in his tracks and was trying to engage a comely maid in conversation. Kurama shrugged and called, "Stop, thief!"  
  
Kuwabara flinched and looked wildly about before catching sight of Kurama.  
  
"Don't DO that!"  
  
Kurama grinned and settled back into his pace, one borne of his chosen profession. Absentmindedly he tried for another apple and was pleasantly rewarded with a ripe, unblemished specimen. Second time's the charm.  
  
'This contest,' he mused, 'well, it would be an interesting diversion. And, should one of us happen to win...' He smiled into the apple, winking at an elderly woman that happened to meet his gaze. 'Kuwabara can keep the girl.' 


	2. Urchin

A/N: Woo I'm starting to like this ^.^ Chapter two!  
  
Now, Kurama may seem a bit ooc, and that's true...for Kurama. But since he's a thief, I decided to head more in the Youko direction than 'mild-mannered' Suuichi.  
  
Yeah, that's basically the only note lol...  
  
Enjoy ^.^  
  
***  
  
Kurama took in the scene with a snort of dismay. "Look, someone's been through here." He began to dig through their small camp, heaving debris out of the way. "Things look basically intact, though."  
  
Brushing the dirt from his pack, he caught sight of Kuwabara digging frantically near the remnants of the prior night's fire. And springing to his feet with a whoop.  
  
"Ring's safe?" Kurama murmured, inspecting a trinket for damage.  
  
"Yup!" Kuwabara hugged the tarnished bit if iron to his chest. "I swear this thing's lucky," he added.  
  
"Anyone what believes in luck is in need of much more than just a bent nail," Kurama muttered to himself, getting to his feet. "Shall we be off?"  
  
Kuwabara plopped down and rubbed dramatically at his feet. "Aw, come on. We just walked through the whole square."  
  
"I suppose you don't really want to get to Nottingham in time to secure an actual sword, then?"  
  
Kuwabara screwed up his face, but got back to his feet.   
  
"Come on, there's bound to be a cart to hop to start us off." Kurama shouldered his pack, merely a tied sheet, and waited for his companion.   
  
"Wait." Kuwabara whirled about and stared at a nearby tree. "Something wrong here."  
  
Kurama set down his pack and pulled the knife from his left wrist. This was the reason he kept Kuwabara around, and he wasn't about to ignore the idiot's valuable intuition. He pitched it with practiced ease and roused a screech.  
  
"Watch where you're throwing that! Oh, crap..."  
  
"Well look at this!" Kuwabara loomed over the crouching figure with a gleeful grin. "That looks like my flask!"  
  
Their captive grinned sardonically. "Damn near empty, too."  
  
Kurama came to Kuwabara's side, wrenching the knife from above the intruder's head with a little grunt. "Kindly return our possessions. We stole them first."  
  
Grumbling, the man handed Kuwabara's flask back to him, as well as a few shiny baubles.  
  
Kurama hefted a candlestick in his hand. "You know, we swiped this particular piece from a crooked vendor. Wouldn't say you could sell it for more than a mouthful." He bent over, putting his face on the level with the crouching figure. "You're not much of a thief, are you?"  
  
"What would you care about it?"  
  
Kurama shrugged, twirling his knife an amicable inch in front of the intruder's nose. "Well, if you're not any use to me, I may as well kill you, then, hm? I don't care anything about you, come to you asking me."  
  
The slightest twinge of fear flickered in his big, brown eyes. "Well, I heard you talking and if you need a sword, me mam's a blacksmith in Birmingham. Can get you one done in a couple of days, balanced like a dream."  
  
Kurama scratched the intruder's chin with the tip of his blade. "How much?"  
  
Relying on bravado, he replied, "Keep me alive and I'll act as a coupon. No charge."  
  
Kurama grinned, sheathing his blade. "You'll go to hell for stealing as well as lying, urchin."  
  
"Wasn't lying about Birmingham."  
  
"Uh...where's Birmingham?"   
  
Kurama glanced over his shoulder at Kuwabara, currently nonplussed. "About halfway from here to Nottingham. Give or take." He turned back to the man crouched before him. "So what are you asking for?"  
  
"Let me live and get a sword?"  
  
Kurama sucked on a canine tooth. "Two."  
  
A relieved grin spread over the captive's face. "Deal."  
  
"Now don't call it that. I want to see if your mam's actually alive, let alone in Birmingham, before we make a deal." He reached out a hand. "But you're safe till then."  
  
The fingers wrapped around Kurama's wrist were dirty but strong. As the man got to his feet, Kurama noticed his clothes were in tatters. His form was emaciated to the point of scrawniness, his ribs stretching his skin.  
  
"You should have been swiping food, not foil-covered candlesticks, boy," Kurama muttered with a frown. "Kuwabara, grab him some food. I think we'll eat early."  
  
Kuwabara frowned and grabbed his companion's arm. "Why are you being so...nice?"  
  
Kurama shrugged. "I admire his guts. I'd hate to see such potential to go to waste. And plus, less for us to carry."  
  
Kuwabara grinned at that and set to making a fire.   
  
"Good think you're inexperienced," Kurama called to the uncertain man still by the tree. "If you were any good it would upset me." He watched as flame slowly flickered to life in the ring of stones and grinned. "But you've got arms." Kurama gestured to a pile of trinkets, some of which had been wrested from the intruder. "Carry those with me and help me pawn them off. Coins are so much lighter."  
  
He bent down and gathered half of the pile into a flour sack and glanced over his shoulder. The man hadn't moved.  
  
"You, boy, forgotten how to walk?"  
  
"You want me to go in...into the market." He frowned, shaking his head.  
  
Kurama raised an eyebrow, patience dwindling. "Either you help me or I'll tie you to that tree with your own arms." He gestured to Kuwabara, who was busy plucking the feathers from a chicken taken that morning. "He'll help. He's good with knots."  
  
After a moment of indecisiveness, the market was deemed less dangerous and so the man bent to gather his half of the pile.  
  
As they walked together, Kurama turned to his sullen companion. "Am I going to have to call you 'boy' all the way to Birmingham?"  
  
"If you want." He sniffed derisively and muttered, "Name's Yusuke."  
  
"Well, Yusuke, you may call me Kurama. Left." He turned and did not look to see if Yusuke followed. The clink of metal was reassurance enough.  
  
Kurama turned again and asked, "How long have you been at this?"  
  
"Do you want my life story?"  
  
Kurama smiled into the hostility. "I want to know how good you are. Judging by the looks of you, not very." He pushed through a few bushes and came to the dirt road that led to civilization. "What's got you scared of the market, hm?"  
  
Yusuke stopped walking and flushed furiously. After mumbling something incomprehensible, he looked to Kurama, a challenge in his eyes.  
  
"Repeat that," Kurama ordered, "Louder this time."  
  
"Botan's there. I saw her."  
  
Kurama set down his flour sack and set his arms akimbo, staring at Yusuke. "You're afraid because of women troubles?"  
  
Yusuke flushed again, anger boiling. "No, it's not that! Me pap hired her to teach me, what before he died. Me mam, being a blacksmith, is another man to Botan and so she took it on herself to be," he pitched his voice an octave higher and shook his finger, "The feminine influence in this young man's life!"  
  
Kurama stared at Yusuke for another second, then started to laugh. At first, he chuckled under his breath, then threw his head back and laughed until his chest heaved and his hair shook.  
  
Then he punched Yusuke hard in the mouth. 


	3. Pawnshop

A/N: Chapter three. Woo. I'm liking this thus far ^.^ Kurama kind of reminds me of Jack Sparrow, but only slightly. I don't think I'll have him say "savvy?" just yet. ^.-  
  
And yeah, I stole the last line of ch. 2 from Terry Pratchett's "Hogfather," where Teatime (Teh-ah-tih-meh!) lays into Banjo...but the motives are far different, I swear. And Banjo actually -loses- a tooth in "Hogfather." *loves Teatime far too much for her own personal good* Anyway, enjoy chap-tar three!  
  
***  
  
Kurama waited for the boy to recover, sucking at his knuckles. "Tell me who you're more afraid of."  
  
"Ain't scared of nobody," came the reply, and Yusuke wiped his mouth on his arm. "Just don't want to have her feminine influence."  
  
Kurama shrugged and hefted the flour sack over his shoulder. "Next time you bend my ear, tell me something interesting." But inwardly, he smiled.  
  
The pawn tent was devoid of all life, too full of assorted junk to allow for breathing room.  
  
"Afternoon, sir, we're in on business," Kurama called, jangling his coin purse. Neither Yusuke nor the shopkeeper knew it held nothing of true monetary value, save a couple gold teeth.  
  
"Come to the back!"  
  
As his debtor sauntered further into the dark heat of the tent, Yusuke glanced warily over his shoulder. No prim, haughty figure, no condescending candy eyes. With a slight sigh of relief, he swallowed the blood in the back of his mouth and disappeared from public view.  
  
"There you are," Kurama patted Yusuke's shoulder, placing the two flour sacks together on a broken-down table. Smoke from the shopkeeper's pipe clouded the air, but Kurama's eyes were unfazed.  
  
"Now see, we've got a goodly amount. Each is either ready to resell or melt down for their base metals. Take, for example," he pulled out the candlestick Yusuke had before stolen, "this candelabra. Part of a set, gilt handsomely in gold." As he spoke, he waved it about and under the shopkeeper's bulbous nose.  
  
As Kurama spoke, negotiating quickly and in words too large for Yusuke to try to comprehend, the urchin looked around. All around him were useless trinkets, broken or scuffed, in piles disheveled and unattractive. Here sat bejeweled goblets with cracked glass and torn foil; beneath them were rich chests with rotted boards. Here a handcrafted chess set saw the death of a king at the hands of half a queen's piece; a violin and a marionette, both missing their strings, sat as spectators.  
  
And, propped against a broken chair, four swords.  
  
With one glance over at the smoke-enshrouded cons, he took one of the swords into his hands. It had many nicks and was ill balanced, but the metal looked secure enough.  
  
He dropped it at the shout of, "Hands off the merchandise!"  
  
"What have you got there, Yusuke?" Kurama asked amicably. Yusuke was having a hard time believing this friendly, caring soul could have popped him so hard a molar came loose.  
  
Yusuke picked up the sword he had been examining and gestured to the other three. "Scrap metal."  
  
Kurama smiled benevolently and spoke as he would to a five-year-old. "If you wish to carry them, we will take them." A glint in his eye reinforced the statement. All the way to Birmingham.  
  
Yusuke backtracked, uncomfortable in the knowledge that he was in no way in control of the situation. "It'll cost less when you get there."  
  
"Mm." He turned back to the shopkeeper. "We'll take three," he drawled, patting one of the flour sacks.  
  
Yusuke made a tiny noise of surprise. Emerald eyes dared him to object.  
  
Even with the purchase of three swords, Kurama had a considerable sum of coins added to his purse. He sauntered easily, the two empty flour sacks slung over his shoulder. Yusuke carried the swords back to their camp and found them wrenched from his hands as soon as he came into view.  
  
"Oh, crow!" Kuwabara cried out, hefting the swords. "You can't be serious, Kurama!"  
  
Kurama shrugged and pointed to Yusuke. "He wanted them."  
  
Yusuke glanced between them, caught between betrayal and fear. Kuwabara loomed over the urchin, his well-used muscles now blatantly evident to the boy. And grinned.  
  
"Now I don't have to go looking for one when we get to Nottingham!" he cried, clapping Yusuke on the shoulder. "Thanks, buddy. Come on, dinner's ready."  
  
Yusuke stood there, stunned for a moment. Kurama nudged him forward and murmured, "You've got to lighten up, boy. He's really more of a kitten."  
  
And with that, the redhead strolled comfortably to his seat at the fire, confident in his manipulative ease. 


	4. Runaway

A/N: Whee. Just a little bit - I got the idea and felt like writing it down.   
  
Soon, I promise, this thing will have some semblance of plot (and humor, too, I swear!) but you know me and lead-in ^.-  
  
Enjoy!  
  
***  
  
"We're really going to Nottingham, Kurama?"  
  
Kurama opened one eye and looked down to Kuwabara. "Why wouldn't we?"  
  
Kuwabara, using his pack for a pillow, smiled up at the starless sky. "Going to marry me a princess, you watch."  
  
Kurama grinned and nestled himself better against a tree. He perched comfortably on a thick bough, one leg dangling toward the ground. "I'll be the vicar if you do."  
  
"Then who's gonna be my best man?"  
  
Kurama allowed a low chuckle and closed his eyes again. "Good night, Kuwabara."  
  
"Mm."   
  
He waited until Kuwabara was asleep before slipping out of the tree and onto Yusuke. Within seconds, he had the urchin subdued in his grip. "You learn slow, boy," Kurama hissed in his ear. "Shall I fetch you a leash?"  
  
Yusuke grunted against the hand Kurama had over his mouth. When Kurama released his hold, Yusuke bellowed an obscenity into the night, cut short by the replacement of his impromptu gag.   
  
"Now look," Kurama hissed, glancing over to the ever-recumbent Kuwabara, "My buddy over there has his sights set on marrying a princess. Without a sword, he's not going to be able to fight. We need you for a sword fast and cheap. Otherwise, he'll be sad." He dodged a well-placed elbow and tightened his hold on Yusuke. "I told you he was a kitten, and he is. Especially since you've already made him so happy. He'll only leave you bleeding on the roadside. It's me you've got to watch for." The elbow was wrenched unnaturally up and behind Yusuke's back. The urchin let out a groan of anguish and stopped his struggles.  
  
"You stay with us until we've got our swords. Then, you can do whatever you like. Come after us for revenge if you want. But right now, you're ours. So. You going to try to run away again?"  
  
Yusuke shook his head vigorously before Kurama even finished his sentence.  
  
Kurama gave the elbow another experimental shove. Yusuke groaned. "Answered too fast. Think about it and be serious." He released Yusuke's mouth and let him breathe.  
  
After a few gasps for air, Yusuke said, "I won't run. You'd catch me if I tried."  
  
Kurama grinned. "You're smarter than I thought." He released Yusuke's elbow and extended his hand as he had earlier that day. "Get up. This time it counts as a handshake. You're on your word, now."  
  
"You'd take my word." An incredulous question phrased as a statement.  
  
Kurama shrugged. "Does it look like I've got a lot riding on you?"  
  
Yusuke couldn't help but smile and take the offered hand.   
  
"Get some sleep. We'll head off tomorrow." Kurama paused and added, "And give Kuwabara back his purse in the morning. It's only got shells in it."  
  
Yusuke gaped and pulled the purse from inside his shirt, opening it to find only broken bits of shell. "How'd you know I...?"  
  
"You're loud. But we can fix that later. Sleep, Yusuke."  
  
Yusuke frowned and tossed the purse over to Kuwabara's sleeping form. He watched his debtor swing easily back into the tree and settle into sleep without a second glance down at the ground. And he wondered where the two of them actually -kept- their money, if not in their purses. 


	5. Morning

A/N: Welcome to chapter five...sorry the update took so long (by my personal standards, I suppose). I really decided to focus on "Withdrawal" for a while, just being in that burned-out sort of mood. Angst comes easier than intimations at humor, most times ^.^ And then I got really sick yesterday - I'm fobbing it off now but yesterday was *really* bad. . Sinuses. Since I've written myself into a veritable box in "Withdrawal" (and I -really- don't feel like working on it today) you guys get another chapter. And there was much rejoicing. "Yaaay."  
  
Anyway, enough of my complaining. Our ragtag troupe finally gets going and...we meet Botan! And, um, this is *not* going to be a Kurama/Yusuke fic. At all. I just have fun with odd mind games. *giggles maniacally* You guys don't get to know the pairings yet ^.^ Bahahaha!  
  
"Yusuke, it's morning. Awaken, sleepyhead. Dreaming of a prince to come and kiss you?"  
  
Yusuke's eyes snapped open and he found himself focusing blearily on a pair of dusty boots. In the dark. "It's not morning." He rolled over on his rock and groaned at the coldness of the ground.  
  
"By all rights it is, boy! Do I really look like a liar?" Yusuke refused to comment on grounds of protecting his personal safety. Kurama grinned and continued, "The sun will be up in moments, Yusuke, and then we can be on our way. The cattle herds are moving out soon and I want to be with one."  
  
Yusuke sat up, imprints of pebbles dotting his cheek. "Cows?"  
  
"Cows. Get up, Kuwabara's got breakfast on."  
  
Breakfast, it turned out, was apple-based. In fact, it consisted completely of apples. In their rawest form. Kurama took one and bit deeply, gratified at the freshness.  
  
"We going soon?" Kuwabara asked, already stuffing various items into his pack.  
  
"Oh, hey, you don't have to carry all those." Kurama tossed an apple to Yusuke, and patted his shoulder. "We've got another strong, young back to help us now."  
  
Yusuke opened his mouth to protest, but shut it when his eyes met Kurama's.  
  
Kuwabara grinned, making a rather obvious mental note to take advantage of the urchin's submission. He pulled out another sheet to act as Yusuke's pack. Aside from the holes, it appeared sound.  
  
Yusuke stared at the apple, wondering exactly what he had gotten himself into.  
  
"Eat," someone admonished, a warm hand patting the back of his neck. "You're too thin, boy." Kurama grinned at him, throwing an apple core over his shoulder. "Don't know what I'd do if you passed out from hunger."  
  
Yusuke laughed weakly, shifted away from Kurama's hand, and crammed the apple into his mouth.  
  
*  
  
They crept toward the stockyard at daybreak, Kuwabara cursing healthily under his breath at the amount of people in the area.  
  
"Hush," Kurama hissed, eyes darting between the cattlemen, searching for an opening. "Yusuke, how are you at silence?"  
  
When there came no answer, Kurama grinned and whispered, "Good, good. Watch your swords, boy, and don't gut anything."  
  
In truth, the blades were so dull not even their repeated banging against Yusuke's thighs when he walked could break skin. Yusuke already had bruises growing on the backs of his legs from this constant bludgeon, however, and winced with every step.  
  
"There, the hay cart near the rear. Follow me. Go!" Kurama darted around a tree, swiftly dodging placid bovines and the occasional glance of a keeper. Kuwabara followed immediately, lumbering a bit slower but just as silently. His form, too, was lost in the midst of the herd before Yusuke took a step. When Yusuke did move, he took a step backward, intent on losing himself in the woods. He retreated further upon hearing hoofbeats down the road.  
  
He crouched in the bushes, propped painfully in a kneel by the swords digging into his hips, glancing between the hay cart and the empty path. In a few breaths' time, an austere carriage became visible. Drawn by a pair of handsome, chestnut mares, the wooden carriage had trim gilt in gold and a well-dressed driver. Yusuke's mouth watered at the luxury of it, but his throat went dry at the sight of its occupant.  
  
The coach stopped upon a silent signal. An alabaster hand reached out of the window, covered from the wrist in the finest violet silk. Following was an intelligent, austere, and -above all- determined face, its delicate features set in practiced neutrality. She fingered the lace at her collar, looking about her in slight distress, unnaturally-colored hair pulled tight in a bun. She released a pretty sigh, swept a light blue tendril behind her ear, and nodded to the driver.  
  
Yusuke knelt, paralyzed, until he could no longer see the carriage. The first pair of eyes he met were bright green, somehow stern and yet amused. He sighed to himself and crept from his hiding place and into the herd.  
  
Kuwabara hoisted him into the hay cart by one arm, wrenching Yusuke's shoulder in the process. Before the urchin could cry out, however, Kurama clapped a hand over his mouth.  
  
As he was shoved down into the hay, Yusuke heard Kurama whisper, "And I was just about to come and get you, too..." 


	6. Hay Fever

A/N: Eek! So sorry for not having updated sooner! Mitigating circumstances, that's all I can say. But now that my other Yu Yu Hakusho fiction is drawing to a close (one chapter left! Go read "Withdrawal" and vote on how I should end it ^.^), my one-shot streak has abated, and because my Saiyuki fiction draws upon a completely different source of inspiration...well, I should be able to spare more time for this fiction. Especially because I finally -fully- figured out the plotline (And the pairings! But I'm not telling! Wai!)  
  
Anyway, enjoy this chapter and I'll try not to take so long with the next one ^.^  
  
***  
  
Yusuke sneezed violently into the collar of his shirt, eyes reddening with each breath.  
  
"What's his problem?" Kuwabara hissed, taking furtive glances over the nearest bale to see if anyone had noticed Yusuke's outburst.  
  
"Hay, apparently," Kurama whispered back, pulling a kerchief from his back pocket and thrusting it at the urchin. "Put it over your nose and mouth and -try- to keep it down."  
  
Yusuke's ears, eyes, and throat itched horribly, and he scratched at them even when the kerchief offered its protection. When he was unable to stop fidgeting, Kurama frowned and roughly took Yusuke in his arms, pressing the urchin's face against his shoulder to quiet him. If the pressure did not assuage his need to scratch, at least the shock of his position stunned Yusuke into silence. He knew better than to struggle.   
  
The hours passed and Yusuke's constricted throat refused to abate. His eyes teared to overflowing, saline rebellion coursing down his cheeks and soaking the fabric of Kurama's shirt. He frequently convulsed from coughs, clutching at the arms Kurama held about him. The thieves to whom he was indentured were growing exceedingly weary of his inability to breathe.  
  
When the herd stopped around midday to graze, Kuwabara slipped away from the hay cart and hid what supplies he could carry in nearby brush. Kurama soon followed with Yusuke in his arms, the urchin hardly able to do anything other than wheeze and stumble blindly as he was dragged. Through the brush they ran, arms laden with dead weight that made a dreadful amount of noise, but the thieves couldn't bring themselves to care until they were fully out of earshot of the herdsmen. Silent thanks were given to the cattle for creating such a racket in vocal and gastric operation.  
  
"I hear water," Kuwabara murmered, eyes darting to the red-faced Yusuke.  
  
"Lead me," Kurama replied, and crashed through the undergrowth after his copper-curled companion.  
  
*  
  
Yusuke spluttered and gasped, dangling like a wet cat from the end of Kuwabara's burly arm. Kurama stood by and shook his head.  
  
"At least the hay's off of him."  
  
Yusuke wheezed and allowed himself to hang, trying to relax his swollen throat. He let out a squawk when Kuwabara suddenly dropped him into the river. Yusuke burst to the surface, soaked to the skin, and cried, "What was that for?!" before lapsing into a coughing fit.  
  
"For losing us our ride," Kuwabara replied, the malice in his eyes overshadowed by his amusement. "Why didn't you tell us?"  
  
"I didn't know," Yusuke replied, running a hand through his sopping hair.  
  
Kurama shrugged, ever undaunted, and bent down to wet his face and neck with river water. "Keep the kerchief, Yusuke," he admonished, noting the pathetic cloth wrapped about the urchin's neck was much the worse for wear. "And this just means we won't smell of cattle when we get to Birmingham. Walking never hurt a body."  
  
"But what if we're late?" Kuwabara cried.  
  
"If you didn't notice, the cart was going about a walking pace anyway. It wouldn't have mattered." Kurama rose, shaking out his dripping bangs. "And we may be able to secure a carriage out of Birmingham. It gets more of the horse-drawn traffic."  
  
"So now we just walk?" Kuwabara looked crestfallen.  
  
In this rare circumstance, Kurama repeated himself. "Walking never hurt a body." He turned his eyes to the dripping boy in the water. In comparison to the fresh water dripping against his shirt, the stain of Yusuke's tears was virtually invisible. "Are you ready?"  
  
Yusuke's wheezing was not quite so pronounced, nor had he sneezed throughout the conversation. "I guess." He got up and barely managed to catch the pack Kuwabara tossed at him, staggering under the weight of it and the lack of balance the swords strapped to his waist provided.  
  
Kurama nodded and murmured, "We can take main roads, so let's find one."  
  
*  
  
Rose-colored eyes brimmed with prim tears, and a gloved hand covered trembling lips. "I...I don't know where else to look. I suppose he may be...be..." She trailed off and sobbed into her fist.  
  
"Yes, miss," the driver replied, his big, brown eyes softening at the tears of a lady. "Shall we return home, then?"  
  
She nodded, unable to look into the eyes so like the color of Yusuke's.  
  
"Yes, thank you, Koenma." 


	7. Brawl

A/N: Sorry it's been so long. Um...mitigating circumstances *blush* But I'll try to work on this more often. (It's an affliction - I write multiple stories at once and some of them suffer in the attention department) I thank you for your patience ^.^  
  
***  
  
"Well, what do you plan to do about it?" she asked. And, on second thought, added, "Your Majesty."  
  
He frowned at her and pulled a handsome sword from the rack by his hip. "Thin the competition."  
  
*  
  
Yusuke trudged along behind his forced compatriots. Kuwabara was humming softly to himself, shouldering his load with evident ease. Kurama walked silently, efficiently, and somehow intelligently. Between the two of them, invisible and yet somehow tangible, ran a line sensitive to the slightest disturbance. A change in the wind, a false step, an onlooker's gaze: all could upset the balance between them. And, Yusuke found, this sensitivity made it impossible for him to lag too much.  
  
But his legs ached from the pounding of the swords upon them, from bearing weight to which he was unused, from walking so much every day. The monotony of it only intensified the pain. The pain of it only illustrated the monotony.  
  
So uneventful was the trip that Kuwabara was unsettled. They took main roads often, not wanting to waste time on back roads if it could be helped, and yet they suffered no skirmish. Not a single thief had tried to rob them; no lingering sneer had developed into a brawl. Kuwabara's fists itched at the serenity of simply moving along without incident.  
  
He was glad of the three drunkards that stumbled across their path one evening. They had with them a striking young woman. They murmured to her, leered at her, jostled her with prods and pinches and yet she would not scream. Her eyes as they met Kuwabara's were pleading, fearful. He took the first man down before the other two realized they were being attacked.  
  
Kurama took the girl gently by the arm, leading her to Yusuke and then diving happily into the fray. The drunkards weren't much for fighting, but they were warm bodies with resistance. They obviously had to be guilty of -something- and so Kurama and Kuwabara could be energetic in the application of 'justice.'  
  
Yusuke found himself holding on to a trembling woman. It was not terror in her eyes, but seething rage. "Um, miss..."  
  
"Those...those...Ooh, I should just..." She wrenched her elbow from his grip and made to exact her own revenge.  
  
Yusuke caught the end of her sleeve. "Please, miss, let them take care of it. They need to fight something. 'S been days."  
  
She frowned at him. "So long as they leave me something. I was driving the horses back to the stable and what do they do? Grab the damn' reins, take control of the damn' cart, and start to run off with it! And I can't very well stop them because," and here she clenched her fists and chanted, "it's -unladylike- to strike at a man! I was just waiting to get out of earshot..."  
  
Yusuke stared open-mouthed at her, and belatedly realized she had enough liquor on her breath to rival her captors. And yet, she did not slur.  
  
Kurama returned to Yusuke, massaging his knuckles. "That was fun. Alright, let's get her home and then we'll be on our way."  
  
"My hero," the woman snarled, brushing past him and heading toward the unconscious men on the ground. "You did a number, there's hardly anything left for me to do," she grumbled, kicking despondently at the torso of one nearest her foot.  
  
"It didn't look like you were doing so well to begin with," Kurama replied, charm slightly startled at its ineffectuality upon her but resilient nonetheless. "Shall we escort you back?"  
  
She turned to glare at him and lost her footing. "Ground's moving." Kuwabara caught her and she struggled, but could not break his hold.  
  
"That's a yes. Come on, you can tell us where you live."  
  
Yusuke crept behind Kurama and hissed, "What's with the Good Samaritan act?"  
  
Kurama shot him a sideways glance and replied, "Rewards," from the corner of his mouth. "We may get a meal of it."  
  
*  
  
As it turned out, a meal did come of it. And warm beds as well.  
  
The woman, called Shizuru by her companion, drained another flask before passing out on her own pad. She slept deeply, leaden, almost deathly quiet except for the slow, measured cadence of her breathing.   
  
The travelers dined with a sweet-faced girl who professed to be Shizuru's partner in business.  
  
"After my parents died they left me with Shizuru." She smiled a bit. "I'm still learning to drive the coach, but I'm getting better. Mainly I take care of the horses, the shopping, and the cooking."  
  
Kurama cocked his head. "A good life, is it?"  
  
She shrugged, meeting his gaze head-on. "As good as I've known. It works." She chewed thoughtfully, then blushed. "Oh, and look at me. I'm an awful hostess, really. Would you boys like any more food?"  
  
Kuwabara voiced a need for seconds and Kurama smiled. Yusuke sat silent. As small talk progressed, with talk of weather and farming conditions, Yusuke studied her. She conversed easily with Kurama, almost as unfazed as Shizuru when it came to his megawatt charm. Unflustered, she could meet his eyes. This was not common in the country lass, and there was something alluring about it. She lacked a definite 'feminine influence' that Yusuke had come to detest.   
  
She was mildly pretty in the superficial sense. Like Shizuru, she had plain, drab hair and eyes. Like Shizuru, she wore her hair pulled back under a kerchief and a worn, cotton shirt tucked into a long skirt, torn and mud-spattered at the hem. The corners of her eyes creased as she smiled, which was seldom, but her smiles were consistently genuine.  
  
Her true beauty lay in her almost subconscious effrontery, in her boldness. Yusuke could not recognize it himself, but somehow he likened himself to her and in that found possibility for companionship.  
  
She glanced at him, then back to Kurama. "What is he staring at?" she asked softly.  
  
Kurama grinned like a fox. "Please excuse him, Keiko. I think he's been away from a pretty girl far too long."  
  
Yusuke blushed furiously and focused on his food. Almost out of sympathy, Keiko blushed a bit and quickly changed the subject. 


	8. Farewell

A/N: Yet another chapter. The others will be much longer than this, I promise. Really! So just enjoy the shortness and bear with me ^.^  
  
Warning: Foreshadowing alert! Don't get too attached to Kurama, folks...  
  
***  
  
Morning dawned bleary, torrential downpour intimated in the foreboding cloud cover. The hue of the sky lightened little with the rising of the sun, dampening spirits of those wishing to visit outdoor markets.   
  
Kurama woke before the others with the practiced ease of one that is never, to tweak an adage, outsmarted. He sat up and ran his fingers through his bangs, shifting quietly on the corn pallet he had been given the night before. It was softer than many other 'beds' but still the husks bit into his backside as his full weight was transferred onto that one spot. Kuwabara snored vigorously a couple pallets over, and Yusuke was curled between them. The urchin pulled his lean limbs into a tight, protective ball when he slept, tossing fitfully during the night. Kurama rubbed at his jaw in memory of a rude awakening as a result.   
  
He frowned at the twigs, the hay, the debris caught in the strands of his hair. It had been a while since he'd gotten the chance to pay attention to the rope hanging down his back beyond untangling it from the fingers of lecherous passersby. And once those passersby realized his feminine stature belied every other masculine facet about him, they left him well enough alone. Kurama unbound his hair and ran his hands through it, untangling thick rats' nests and messes of knots with patient fingers.  
  
When he finished, a pile of twigs and other burrs sat an inch deep on the floor. His hair was greasier than before, lack of washing now compiled with the oil from his hands. It seemed a shade darker for the layer of grime, and hung lank in stringy clumps. He smiled at his handiwork, the cleanest he had been in a long time.   
  
He was binding it back again when Keiko knocked softly at the bare doorframe.  
  
He hushed her, nodding at the recumbent forms on their respective pallets, and crept to her side. She led him back to the little table they used to denote the dining room.  
  
"I want to thank you for allowing us to board, Keiko," Kurama said, smiling at her.  
  
She nodded. "It was the least I could do. Shizuru probably could have handled the boys, but you got her back in one piece, so that's better."  
  
Kurama grinned. "I suppose we'll be leaving today, then."  
  
"Oh? Why?"  
  
"Swordfighting tournament in Nottingham; you've heard of it, haven't you?" Kurama shrugged. "Kuwabara's got his heart set on marrying a princess."  
  
Keiko frowned. "And the rest of you?"  
  
Kurama paused, then supposed he couldn't do worse than the truth. "I'm in it for the money, to be honest. And the boy's with us because he's promised us swords when we get to Birmingham."  
  
He suppressed a grin at the transformation in Keiko's expression. "So he's just going until Birmingham?" She glanced over her shoulder to where she knew her guardian would be sleeping off a hangover. "Maybe Shizuru could drive you that far."  
  
"Heard that!" Shizuru cried, her voice hoarse and cracked. "No way!"  
  
"Maybe -you- could drive us, Keiko?" Kurama suggested, not wanting to give up the prospect of a free ride. "And I'm not bad at it - I'll help."  
  
Keiko chewed at her lower lip, obviously a bit more than befuddled and not willing to jump into such a situation.  
  
"I'll let you think on it," Kurama murmured, already plotting. He knew she would agree even before he suggested it. "I'll go check in on Kuwabara and Yusuke."  
  
*  
  
Yusuke yawned widely and received an elbow in the face. He wriggled angrily out from under the attack and found a slumbering Kuwabara at fault. Aforementioned assailant muttered something incoherent, snorted, and rolled again onto his back, resuming an intense session of snoring.   
  
"He's a little loud when there's not a rock to prop his head on," Kurama said softly, a smile on his face. "Sleep well?"  
  
Yusuke rubbed his nose, willing the tears down from his eyes. "Yeah."  
  
Kurama shrugged. "Your lady Keiko's giving us a ride."  
  
Yusuke flushed. "She's not my lady, what are you talking about?"  
  
Kurama arched an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Then, may I try her?" He laughed as Yusuke's eyes narrowed. "I give. She's yours, all right."  
  
*  
  
"Go. Go already, damn it, just be quiet..."  
  
Keiko glanced worriedly over her shoulder one more time and Shizuru waved exasperatedly at her.   
  
"I don't think we should leave her like this..."  
  
"Nonsense," Kurama admonished, flicking the reins. "She's got another cart, and there aren't ever any soppy farewells when you've got a headache that could stun a cow."  
  
Kuwabara laughed from his position behind them and added, "But what about a dog?"  
  
Kurama fetched him a thump on the head for that. "That's no way to speak of a woman." But he grinned.  
  
Keiko shied a bit away from Kuwabara's boots as they were right behind her. This coach, unlike the richer specimens privy to those richer mortals, had only cargo room inside, forcing the passengers to sit atop it and bounce with every change in the road. Only the driver had any sort of bench, and that itself was also hard wood, set a few feet lower than the passenger area.  
  
"I'll drive, Keiko," Kurama said softly, his hands calm at the reins. "If, for some reason, I am indisposed, I will ask you to take over. But that's it."  
  
She nodded, still uncomfortable with this foreign man driving Shizuru's cart but thankful for his expertise as well. Charm, Kurama reflected, is a fabulous thing.  
  
The rain didn't start until Keiko was unable to see Shizuru's silhouette. 


	9. Security

A/N: *grin* I suppose I was a bit too vague last chapter. In answer to your questions, no Kurama isn't going to die. Although the lightning/grease idea was...inventive. I'm thinking everybody survives this fic, folks...but don't you worry your heads about my odd foreshadowing techniques. They're often impossible to pick up on until after the fact ^.^;;  
  
Enjoy!  
  
***  
  
"You're going to get killed."  
  
He smirked, swiping a hand through sweat-matted, dark hair. "If I do, you'll take up the sword for me, won't you?"  
  
She frowned at him, spreading her hands before her. They were perfect, marred only on the pads from rough touches. "Do I look like I can handle a sword?"  
  
He shrugged in response. "Do I look like I could be killed?"  
  
*  
  
Meanwhile...  
  
*  
  
"How far to Birmingham? I'm numb!" Kuwabara whined, shifting for the millionth time in his uncomfortable spot.  
  
Kurama shot an exasperated glance over his shoulder, tossing his soaking bangs out of his eyes. "We'll get there when we get there."  
  
Keiko shivered, trying to wring some of the water out of her clothing. Kurama held out an arm and she scooted closer to him, at least gleaning warmth from the welcoming body.  
  
If looks could kill, Kurama wouldn't have survived past his second birthday. As it was, Yusuke's eyes did nothing but raise the hairs on the back of the redhead's neck. He shifted uncomfortably, trying at once to stay atop the cart and not to lose the swords he had previously unhooked from his belt. It was impossible to sit with them on, but even more so to keep them within arm's reach on a wildly bouncing platform.  
  
"Can't I shove these somewhere?"  
  
Kuwabara leered at him, sensing an open door in the vague question. Yusuke backtracked quickly. "Will they fit inside? The coach, I mean."  
  
Kuwabara snorted. "You want to try to get down to the door while this thing's moving. 'Cause you know it's not going to stop."  
  
Yusuke frowned. "May as well." He peeked over the side and found himself unable to reach the latch. "Gimmie a hand?"  
  
Kuwabara rolled his eyes but grabbed hold of Yusuke's legs, holding him as his body overbalanced and slid down the side of the cart. Once the swords were in, Yusuke looked up at him expectantly. Kuwabara grinned and shook the urchin.  
  
"I could do this all day, kid," he called, letting go with one arm so one of Yusuke's legs hung free. The boy's hair brushed some of the larger rocks. He spluttered as raindrops went down the inverted passages of his nose.  
  
"You bastard! Pull me up!"  
  
Kurama laughed and called, "That's no way to treat a man who's got you by the leg, Yusuke." Keiko started and he tightened his arm about her. 'Not yet, not now, Keiko,' he silently ordered.  
  
"Drop me then!"  
  
Kuwabara shrugged and did just that.  
  
*  
  
'The horses were tired and treading carefully because of the rain,' Keiko reflected, 'or else Kuwabara wouldn't have...he'd have never...'  
  
Kurama laughed again as Yusuke scrambled to the side of the cart. "You're a fast runner, Yusuke! We could have gone with the cattle herds and just had you hurry along behind the hay cart."  
  
Yusuke swore under his breath but accepted Kuwabara's burly arm, allowing himself to be dragged back atop the coach. He shook some of the mud from the hem of his pants but was irreparably dirty, having sprinted through deepening puddles to catch up. He rubbed at the back of his head.  
  
Kuwabara grinned. "Your hair's all flat where you hit."  
  
Yusuke bunched a fist, snarling, "I'll show -you- flat..."  
  
Kuwabara looped an arm about Yusuke's neck, pulling him against his chest in a mockery of a friendly gesture. "Big baby."  
  
Keiko looked over her shoulder. "Is he okay?" she asked Kurama, feeling his grip on her slacken.  
  
In response, he smiled warmly. "A few blows to the head are nothing. He's learning invaluable lessons, girl."  
  
As he spoke, Kuwabara started laughing as Yusuke swiped at him, connecting heavily with the brute's arm. He responded with a cuff to the shoulder and Yusuke grinned. Fists sang through the raindrops as the two laughed and sparred, hitting to bruise but not to hurt, partly tense but mainly friendly.  
  
Kurama patted Keiko's shoulder. "See? They're bonding."  
  
*  
  
The weather cleared just in time for the sun to set, so the soaked travelers started shivering in the onset of night. Kurama shrugged. "We can build a fire, at least."  
  
Build a fire they did, the task made easier when clumps of dry brush nearly tripped the horses, providing instant fuel. Kurama and Keiko unhitched the horses and tied them to trees to graze while Kuwabara and Yusuke gathered brush for the fire. The cart they placed at the backside of their campsite, bordered safely by a line of thorn bushes on one end and Kuwabara on the other.  
  
Keiko produced a line of crude rope from the coach's interior with a small smile. "Hang what you want to dry over the fire and I'll get some food."  
  
The men shared a disbelieving glance and grinned at being so readily taken care of. Women truly are amazing things.  
  
The interior of the cart housed much more than rope, as it turned out. Food for both human and horse, the men's packs, three swords, and blankets were also wedged inside. For a small cart not more than four feet tall excepting the wheels, this was quite a stash.  
  
Kurama and Kuwabara readily shrugged out of their shirts, wringing them out with practiced ease. Kuwabara rolled his into a tight rope and popped Yusuke hard, a loud crack resounding as wet cloth hit his backside. The urchin yelped and rubbed at the sore spot as Kuwabara laughed. Kurama sighed and smiled, hanging his own shirt by the fire and sitting on a rock.  
  
Any modesty Yusuke might have had in Keiko's presence dissolved in the chase. He and Kuwabara compounded prior injuries, snapping each other enough that their skins turned pink, flushed with cold and pain. They both grinned like jackals through it all.  
  
Keiko sat by the fire and shivered. Her clothing was as soaked through as theirs, but she found in herself complete modesty and manners suddenly rising unbidden, preventing any release. She cursed her lack of foresight in not bringing a change of clothing.  
  
Kurama watched her and shook his head. "Must I do everything?" He got up as Keiko watched, slightly nonplussed, and pulled a blanket from the cart. "Take your dress off and wrap up. You'll dry faster in a blanket, at least."  
  
Keiko blushed but disappeared into the brush, returning some long moments later with her dress in her hands and the blanket wrapped firmly under her arms.  
  
Yusuke nearly fell into the fire.  
  
Kuwabara yanked on the urchin's bare shoulder, gleeful lechery lining his features, and couldn't keep himself from giggling as Yusuke did not immediately regain coherency.  
  
*  
  
Sleeping arrangements were more comfortable than Keiko expected. Because Kurama professed that he preferred lounging in the driver's seat of the cart, there was more space by the fire. Because Kuwabara slept leaning against a tree, huddled against himself, he offered his other blanket to her. Warm and comfortable, stolidly avoiding Yusuke's gaze but steadfastly gazing upon him, she stretched out on Kuwabara's blanket. She knew she should worry about being robbed, raped, killed during the night. But somehow listening to Kurama's calm, intelligent tones quelled any fear within her.  
  
She closed her eyes after Yusuke dropped into slumber, watching him sleep and glancing periodically to Kuwabara and Kurama. More than foreboding, they felt parental. And Keiko was safe.  
  
*  
  
"Nyaaah..." Yusuke awoke to cool silence, a fresh sheen of dew shining on the blanket over him. The eloquence issuing from his mouth, however, was a reaction to the sight that met him when he sat up.  
  
Keiko had rolled over in the night, unraveled herself from the majority of her blanket, and lay sprawled on her back in recumbent splendor. Yusuke, not having been privy to much 'feminine influence,' did not understand the meaning of petticoats or rudimentary corsets, but he did know he'd never seen so much female skin or so much definite form since his mother had been working in the forge on an extremely hot day. Her skin was taught and translucent in the cold, the hairs on her arms raising and beading with dew.  
  
"Go on, warm her up," someone whispered by his ear, and he struck out wildly to rebuke the suggestion.  
  
Kurama danced back, laughter bubbling in his throat. "I just meant you should fix the blankets. It's not good for a girl to get so cold," he murmured, jerking his thumb over toward her. As if on cue, Keiko shivered.  
  
Yusuke frowned, but couldn't resist. He crawled over to Keiko and tucked one of the blankets over her, getting up as quickly as possible afterward. "She won't -catch- me at it."  
  
Kurama grinned. "She's got more dried meat in this cart than we could eat in a month."  
  
At the sudden change of topic, Yusuke's stomach startled to life, complaining vehemently. "Then I don't feel too bad about eating."  
  
Kurama nodded, opening a covered basket and offering it to Yusuke. "You're still too thin."  
  
And, under the thief's appraising gaze, Yusuke's insides squirmed.  
  
Too many questions had gone unanswered. Why hadn't they killed him, taken the swords, coerced his mother into making something new? Why hadn't they abandoned Keiko or even robbed her and Shizuru during the first night? Why was Kurama so caring, Kuwabara so brotherly? What could allow for their being so damn' -nice-? 


	10. Forge

A/N: Due to my laziness, we jumped about a week chronologically. Just a heads-up. ^.^  
  
***  
  
They reached Birmingham in half the time that had been calculated. Kurama welcomed the leeway, planning to enjoy himself in stationary comfort for a few days. Kuwabara, however, was unsettled. He glanced over his shoulder many times and muttered about his dislike for the place.  
  
"We'll stay long enough to get the swords. You still want a sword, don't you?" Kurama asked, flicking the reins in signal that he did not expect an answer.   
  
When Yusuke pointed them in the clear direction of his mother's forge, he paled and crept behind Kuwabara.  
  
Kurama recognized immediately the symbol of Yusuke's discomfort. A handsome carriage, gilt in gold trim, stood before the entrance to the forge in all its anomalous glory. Two restless mares were still hitched to the front, one of which stamped her hoof impatiently as the other garnered the most attention. A young man in a neat, clean uniform patted the muzzle of the other, passing carrots to her from his palm. He glanced up when the cart drew near enough.  
  
"We won't hide you. You're our ticket," Kuwabara hissed through the corner of his mouth, nudging the urchin.   
  
Kurama passed the reins to Keiko and hopped from the cart, addressing the coachman with a supercilious air befitting a lord. Somehow his travel-worn, dirty, thin visage handled the grandeur with little strain. "Is the blacksmith in?" This question, coupled with bright, green eyes staring disdainfully down an upturned nose, exuded authority the man obviously did not have. The youth replied out of reflex despite the protests from his eyes.  
  
"Yes, milord."  
  
Kurama tried hard not to grin. He brushed past the coachman and into the forge without allowing his patina to crack. Once inside, his chest deflated and he bowed to the women he encountered.  
  
"I am here on business, good ladies, and would wish to do business with the smith of whose talents I have heard from miles away."  
  
A woman in a heavy apron, her hair tied at the nape of her neck, raised an eyebrow and asked, "So what d'you want from me, eh? I en't got all day."  
  
*  
  
If Keiko had been expecting a warm reception upon hearing this woman was Yusuke's mother, she was sorely disappointed. As it was, the blacksmith gave her son a good whack upside the head so his ears rung and cursed at him for leaving her alone. She appeared to take it for granted that he would return to her and so merely punished him for his stupidity.  
  
The other woman, however, prim and beautiful, took Yusuke by the ear, sat him down, and talked to him long and hard. When her cotton candy eyes lit upon Keiko, she let out a cry.  
  
"Yusuke! Have you done anything to her? Oh, my dear, you must be..."  
  
Keiko found herself embraced in a thick aura of floral perfume and lace. "I'm...I'm fine, really. They helped me, so I offered to drive them here."  
  
"My dear, you cannot trust so easily! Come with me, let's get you cleaned up." She shot a glance at Yusuke with the soft promise, "I'll deal with -you- later."  
  
Meanwhile, Kuwabara had presented the blacksmith with the swords Yusuke had dragged across the countryside and she snorted.  
  
"I could of gotten you two out of each, boys. But if it gave my idiot son grief, good on yer." She took the swords, unscrewed the hilts cleanly from the blades after a few minutes' work, and set the metal in the fire to melt down.  
  
She took a seat at the worktable by the forge, swiping her hair behind her ears. "So how'd you come upon my boy, mm?"  
  
Kurama shrugged. "He tried to rob us."  
  
She grinned. "That's my boy. 'Course, it just meant I saw less of him. That Botan has him in charm school all hours of the day so he's never caught the love of iron. He grew up with it in his hands until she came along." Her eyes narrowed. "Don't blame him running away."  
  
Kurama rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "If it's consolation, he's a terrible thief." He nudged Kuwabara, who nodded.   
  
"Got spirit though," the burly man added, fingering a bent nail he had strung about his neck on a piece of Keiko's clothesline.  
  
The blacksmith shrugged. "Must of, else you might have killed him, mm?"  
  
Kurama laughed. "We needed him to lead us here, in any case."  
  
She smiled at him. "I like your honesty. Care for a drink, mister..."  
  
"Oh! Excuse me. Call me Kurama, and this is Kuwabara. Family names aren't necessary."  
  
"Thieves?"  
  
"We prefer 'con men.' On small scale, at least."  
  
She smiled again. "Urameshi Atsuko. Now, about the drink?"  
  
Kurama held up a hand, silencing Kuwabara. The man was about to voice his pressing need for a good drought, but he had learned not to surpass Kurama in social setting. "No, thank you, miss Atsuko."  
  
She shrugged. "More for me, then." An old bottle materialized from beneath the table and she took a long swig. "Whiskey's good for metalwork."  
  
Kurama raised an eyebrow. "I'll take your word for it." 


	11. Matrimony

A/N: No excuses besides my own apathy and lack of time. RL is consuming. Love my reviewers. Enjoy the shortness.  
  
***  
  
Kurama hefted the sword, examining the work, trying not to show his awe. "This from the battered things we brought to you?"  
  
"A bit adulterated, but basically yeah." Atsuko wiped her forehead on her sleeve and grinned. "Like it?"  
  
Kuwabara, holding his own sword, muttered a low, incoherent stream of babble. Kurama translated: "Immensely. These are the original hilts," he added, picking at the seam where the reworked metal met the remnant of its counterpart.  
  
Atsuko nodded. "They're in good shape. Loved, but they should fit you anyway." She pointed to the table near them. "I en't got sheaths but there's some leather to bind them in."  
  
Kurama smiled. "I suppose I can't ask for Yusuke to be our pack mule again, can I?"  
  
With a snort, Atsuko replied, "He's mine first."  
  
As if on cue, Yusuke and Keiko entered the forge, hand-in-hand. "Perhaps not," Kurama murmured.  
  
"Mam, Keiko came up with an idea I think you'll like." Yusuke couldn't keep the grin off of his face. He nudged Keiko, who smiled a little.  
  
"Out with it!" Atsuko cried.  
  
"You know Botan's supposed to be my feminine influence?" Yusuke asked. "What if I had a -different- one...so Botan could go home?"  
  
Atsuko studied her son's face. "Urameshi Yusuke, you remember what your father said." Yusuke nodded, squeezing Keiko's hand. Atsuko grinned. "Well, I'll be damned. You'd better start working, Yusuke, if you want to pay for a marriage."  
  
Kuwabara nearly dropped his sword. Yusuke bore a similar expression of surprise. "Pay? But mam, does it have to be something fancy?"  
  
Keiko's eyes narrowed. "It had better be something fancy, Yusuke!" she cried, untangling her fingers from his so she could point at him. "Am I not good enough for something fancy?!"  
  
Kurama slowly took a step backward. He was not noticed. As the two women yelled at an overwhelmed Yusuke, Kurama tugged Kuwabara out of the forge and toward the stables.  
  
"Time to make a good - oof!" After dislodging his mouth from a fashionable lace ruffle, Kurama met two demurely furious, candy eyes.  
  
"Make a good what? And kindly take a step back," she ordered, her hands on the topmost ruffles adorning her skirts.  
  
Kurama bowed. "We have overstayed our welcome, received our goods, and plan to leave this place in peace." He elbowed Kuwabara, who nodded with hardly a grunt. "We just have to take our things from Keiko's cart and be on our way."  
  
Botan gazed down upon him, scrutinizing and, oddly enough, admiring. "Well, just...just watch where you're walking next time," she admonished, stepping aside.  
  
Kurama nodded with a smile. "I will, my lady." She blushed flatteringly and returned the gesture.  
  
As they rooted through Keiko's cart, Kuwabara muttered, "Why d'you have to do that -every- time?"  
  
Kurama grinned, shouldering his pack and replying, "We'd never survive any other way. Come on, to the horse." Kuwabara almost protested out of a natural tendency toward ignorant honesty, but he recognized the look on Kurama's face. "Think of it this way," Kurama added, knowing his companion's thoughts, "we left her everything else. And we didn't kill her. That's worth something." He loaded Keiko's horse with their packs, the swords, and a few days' rations.  
  
They could still hear the argument from inside the forge as they passed, and tried not to smile.  
  
"Do you really think that's wise?" a vaguely familiar voice asked. Kurama glanced over his shoulder to see the coachman.  
  
"It was good enough for your lady," Kurama shot back, winking. He could feel the youth's intelligent, brown eyes on his back as he walked, and forced himself not to turn again. Too intelligent to be a driver, and yet it was his profession.  
  
Kurama was not, in most circumstances, a liar. He had been truthful when he told Yusuke that, with training, he'd make a fine thief. Swindler, no. But a fine thief. The driver had the extra intuition that could take him leagues farther than Yusuke. Perhaps, Kurama mused with a grin, to Kuwabara's level. Kuwabara understood the main point to fine thievery - psychology. When his own impulses didn't overpower him, the carrot-top could be quite tactful. It was just a matter of controlling his itching hands.  
  
The ground was a mess of oozing mud puddles left by the rains. The horse picked its way carefully, and the men alongside her strolled comfortably through the muck. Kuwabara turned to Kurama, if only for the familiarity of it. To see his companion, he'd have to look through a few square feet of horse-face.  
  
"What are we going to do when we get there?" he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.  
  
"Find an inn, fight a bit, and win you a princess," Kurama replied with a smile. The answer was good enough for Kuwabara, and it was all Kurama felt like voicing at that particular moment.  
  
"Well, why do we need to be there so...early?"  
  
Kurama shrugged. "Paperwork." Interpreting his partner's silence correctly, he added, "We may have to prove we're of reputable descent before we can enter."  
  
"But...oh!" Kuwabara cried, grinning suddenly. "Can I be a duke?"  
  
Kurama snorted. "A ruddy-headed, superstitious, quick-fingered duke with a bent nail for luck and a charming safeguard to keep his lordship out of trouble?" He didn't even have to listen for the rustle of clothing to know Kuwabara was nodding emphatically. Kurama grinned and murmured, "We'll see."  
  
*  
  
"Name?"  
  
"You know it."  
  
His Adam's apple bobbed wildly in recognition and knee-knocking respect. "If it pleases, Majesty, so does everyone else."  
  
"Well, of course. But the records need to be pure, needn't they?" The question was edged in daggers.  
  
"Yes, yes, Highness. And your name for the contest?"  
  
He grinned at the woman behind him. "You pick." 


	12. Traveling

A/N: Hello, I'm alive, I swear! I do think about this story, really!  
  
What happened was: I accidentally deleted the file of notes I had for the continuation of Shining Armor because it was titled very similarly to the file I actually wanted to get rid of. When I found out what I'd done (after some weeks) when I had time to sit down and write, well, I couldn't rummage enough to get it back. And so I had to rethink the whole thing, and there you have it. Eh, whatchagonnado.  
  
Anyway, hope your waiting was worth it . Here you'll meet another new character. One guess as to who he is. ^.^ This chapter gives a bunch of stuff away.  
  
Reviews welcomed - tell me if I suck! Enjoy  
  
***  
  
She smiled prettily in jest as she whispered two choices into his ear.  
  
His grin did not falter. "And so it is," he replied, accepting both without further thought.  
  
She did not know if she should laugh at it, because his grin suddenly edged itself in steel sharper than that of his blade. She knew the beauty, the power, the strength in him, and was for the first time afraid.  
  
*  
  
"Duke Kuwabara," the redhead murmured, trying out the name in his mouth. "Yeah, I'm liking that."  
  
"Have you ever thought it'd be a step down from princess for her?" The barb was set, spring-loaded, but Kurama needed to test his partner's conviction.  
  
"Eh, she'll be so in love with me she won't care," Kuwabara replied, passing with flying colors. Kurama smiled and let his mind drift to other things.  
  
Walking is a fantastic thing, really, to one that has no feet. However, the constant pounding rhythm of footstep after footstep ground upon Kurama's joints, sending an ache from instep to hip every time a foot hit the ground. Normally, an entire day's walking wasn't unbearable. He should be used to it, but he ached.  
  
Kuwabara, idiot that he was, mentioned it. "You're favoring your left side."  
  
"Slept funny," Kurama replied, forcing his pace to regulate and gripping his left hip until his knuckles whitened.   
  
Kuwabara grunted. "Well, sun's going down in an hour or abouts. Let's just make camp."  
  
Kurama glared at the horse's neck, wishing he could fix his gaze upon his companion. If he noticed, Kuwabara didn't let it show. He looked about him for any growth that would provide shelter and frowned. The closest to shelter he could see was a hill, and a small one at that. But it was something to rest their backs on and it was in the middle of grassy grazing for the horse. He made his way the half-mile or so and sat down with an open grin.  
  
Kurama frowned and opened his mouth to protest.  
  
Kuwabara coughed loudly and patted the hill where it rose to meet his back. "It's good enough. You sit. It wouldn't look good if you showed up all battered. What kind of duke would that make me?"  
  
Kurama rolled his eyes, but sat at the base of the hill and suppressed a hiss when he allowed his legs to relax. He ground his lip between his teeth, massaging some blood to his ankles and knees as Kuwabara unloaded the horse and let her graze untethered.  
  
"It's what I get for not sleeping on the ground for one blasted night," Kurama muttered, a wry smile softening the hardened pain on his features. "Makes the body go soft."  
  
Kuwabara grinned as he fished flint from his pocket and struck at a stone a few times. Before long, a spark blossomed into a small fire, not much for warmth but good enough to light the growing darkness. "I wouldn't mind the life of luxury so much."  
  
"Sure you wouldn't, duke." Kurama grinned back at him. "But if you've got luxury, you won't have to walk all bloody day. It hurts to move," he added, trying to bend his knees. "What've we got by way of food?"  
  
Kuwabara made his way toward the packs. He muttered, "If it's apples, I'm going to scream."  
  
Kurama laughed at that. "Shall I cover my ears?"  
  
The scream came out as a strangled grunt. Kurama bit into his apple with an irrepressible smile and Kuwabara rummaged deeper to get a handful of salt pork. He grumbled, "Tastes like apple."  
  
Kurama shrugged. "Mine tastes like salt. Food is food. And at least apples don't make you thirsty."  
  
Kuwabara chewed thoughtfully for a moment, glared at Kurama, and immediately reached for his canteen. "Damn you," he shot, slugging back a mouthful of water.   
  
Kurama wasn't sure how much longer after that he fell asleep. But he did know Kuwabara went out first, and that he was debating with himself on whether to force himself to get up and tether the horse to something. Moving his legs just didn't seem worth it at the time.  
  
*  
  
"Is this yours?"  
  
Sunlight. Bright, painful sunlight. Someone nudging his side with the toe of their boot. An imperious, deep voice.  
  
A horse's muzzle nuzzling his nose.  
  
"Yes," Kurama croaked, pushing the mare's face from his. "Most likely." He detached himself from the hillside, got to his feet, and made a face at the stiffness of his joints. "Thank you, sir," he added, taking the reins from an outstretched hand. "What can I do for you?"  
  
The man before him was handsome enough, with a masculine face that offset his stature. He wore a green cotton shirt tucked into well-fitting black pants, and his black boots were well made, lacking nails in favor of strong stitching. A dark, red bandanna was tied about his head, but the hairs peeking down in front of his ears, hanging down the nape of his neck, and tangling in his eyelashes were black. He gave a disgusted sniff. "Step back a foot."  
  
Kurama frowned at the stranger, leading the horse away. "Watch your tongue lest I embrace you." He nudged Kuwabara and put the reins in his companion's hand. "Apples for breakfast," Kurama greeted cheerily, noting the expression on Kuwabara's face with a grin.  
  
"Care to join us?" Kurama asked, turning again to the man that had returned his horse.  
  
The stranger raised an eyebrow over imperious, piercing eyes. "I have my own food, thank you."  
  
Kurama shrugged, brushing the dirt from his clothes. "Well, I hate being indebted. Is there nothing you require?"  
  
The stranger sighed, exasperated. "If I endure your company for the morning, will you call it even?"  
  
"Companionship it is," Kurama agreed with a smile like a wolf. He picked up the pack with the food in it and pulled out an apple.  
  
The stranger led his horse around to a lush patch of grass and dropped the reins. "She won't bolt if I pay attention to her."  
  
"What makes you so sure?" Kuwabara asked, feeding the apple that was to be his breakfast to Keiko's mare. Her lips curled about his palm and he giggled a bit at the feeling. She wasn't as ornery as would be expected so long as she got an apple.  
  
The stranger shrugged, taking a seat on a nearby rock. "She won't."  
  
Kurama wiped apple juice from the side of his mouth. "That's a fine sword on your belt. Headed toward Nottingham?"  
  
The stranger raised an eyebrow. "You don't mean to tell me you're headed that way as well."  
  
Kurama nodded. "I've got an uncle what's taken sick there. But we keep running into potential suitors for some woman." He shrugged, affecting a lazy smile. "I hear she's gorgeous. Kuwabara over there's not a bad hand at swordplay."  
  
The stranger stiffened for only an instant before forcing himself to relax. He cocked his head, the black strands of hair over his face shifting with the movement. "Very well. I go as...security. If the fray becomes disorderly..."  
  
Kurama grinned. "As is the norm."  
  
The stranger shrugged it off. "I mean to say, if the prize herself becomes in danger, I am to protect her."  
  
"Why the pilgrimage, then?"  
  
"I am the best at what I do, and my last job was protection of another such maiden in France. I go where I am needed."  
  
Kurama whistled low through his teeth. "France. Tell me, sir, if you are the best at what you do, why don't I know of you?"  
  
The stranger permitted a smirk. "You are not a fair maiden that needs protection."  
  
"Fair, yes. Maiden, no." Kurama spat out a seed to punctuate the sentence. "I still may need protection," he added mockingly, tired of the stranger's aloof manner and itching to get under his skin. "What name may I scream in the night?"  
  
"Any you wish; I'll not come." The stranger put his hands in his pockets. "But you may call me Makoto Toshii."  
  
"Toshii it is. I am Kurama, the man that lacks a surname. My companion, Kuwabara, is similarly afflicted." He tossed the core over his shoulder and sucked at his last finger. "Master Toshii, I see no reason why we should not travel as a group. After all, three are better than one when it comes to fending away bandits in the night."  
  
"I see plenty of reasons," Toshii replied, eyes raking over Kurama's ragged clothing and disheveled appearance.  
  
Kurama shrugged. "Have it your way, protector of maidens. Though if you don't want us with you, you may want to wait half a day lest you catch up." He turned to Kuwabara and said, "Let's go."  
  
Kuwabara sneered at the stranger and loaded the horse without another look at him. Kurama rubbed his knees, anticipating another long walk with dread.  
  
The hairs on the back of his neck rose like the living dead at a piercing whistle. Toshii didn't spare a glance to him but held out his hand to his horse, who had come cantering back at the sound. "Yes," he murmured, his voice hard. "Let's." 


	13. Wordplay

A/N: Eh, I hope nobody thought this thing had died . I do still work on it! It's just...you know, RL's demanding. Eh heh. Anyway, prepare yourselves for another in-nteresting chapter, developing the interactions between our thieves and this new guy, Toshii. Who, I think, you may begin to enjoy.   
  
'Nother note: The Game comes from a game I often play with friends and family on long car trips, et cetera. It involves taking one word, and starting another word with the last letter of the first word. And on and on - The Game uses sounds instead because you can't expect a couple of lowly country thieves to be able to know about silent letters and finicky spellings ^.^ I suggest you try The Game sometimes - it's hilarious. (Narcotic. Cocaine. Elephant? Toes! Ad infinitum.)  
  
Enjoy  
  
***  
  
"You know," Kurama murmured, though he knew the imperious Toshii could hear, "it's not uncommon for companions to talk to wile away the time spent in travel."  
  
Toshii snorted. "Speak, then." He glanced to his left and saw Kurama leaning almost against his shoulder. He would have moved away had he not been in danger of knocking his horse into the deeper mud.  
  
Kurama did as ordered, walking within Toshii's personal space and not appearing to mind it. "The Game it is, then."  
  
Kuwabara laughed. "The Game, again. All right, you start," he ordered from the other side of their shared horse.  
  
Kurama closed his eyes and murmured, "Game."  
  
"Egg."  
  
"Goose."  
  
"Snake."  
  
"What?" Toshii glared up at Kurama. The redhead smiled.  
  
"No, 'what' doesn't sound the same as the end of 'snake.' Try again."  
  
"I refuse to play to such trivialities." Toshii averted his gaze, staring stolidly ahead.  
  
Kurama shrugged. "Kiss."  
  
"That was coy," Kuwabara called, laughter and leer suffusing his voice. "Sword."  
  
Kurama let his green eyes wander down to the stoic Toshii and cried, "Danger!"  
  
Out of reflex, the green-clad figure tensed, his fingers tightening about his horse's reins until the knuckles whitened. His other hand was going for his belt when Kuwabara retorted, "Rock!"  
  
Kurama had to bite his lip to keep from laughing when the daggers in Toshii's glare met his skin.  
  
*  
  
After every manner of word and sound had been exhausted (and Kurama's repeated jabs still had no effect upon Toshii's iron resolve) the sun touched gently upon the horizon. The tentative kiss developed as every step the travelers took added to the illusory bobbing of the sun. The sky blushed at the show, reddening to purple-black, where the stars winked down at the earth.  
  
"Master Makoto," as Kurama had taken to calling him in jest, "I understand this may not be your finest choice of accommodation, but I see not an inn for miles."  
  
Toshii (whose name had made a cameo in the Game between the words "twit" and "idiot," as Kuwabara had at that time been running out of nouns and instead sprang to insults for inspiration) barely shrugged. "It's a warm night."  
  
Kuwabara tied the horse to a tree and unloaded her for the night. Toshii's own mare hung nearby, needing not to be lashed because of Toshii's absolute trust in her obedience. The two, a grizzled, brown nag and a young, black filly, were quite the couple grazing together in the fading light.  
  
Kuwabara tossed an apple to Kurama out of habit. The redhead caught it with a grin and leaned back against a rock with all the grace as if it were a pillow.  
  
"Is that all you eat?" Toshii asked, the disdain in his voice marked by something different. Kurama shrugged and bit in. Toshii frowned and looked into his own pack and a handsome store of food.  
  
"It's not far to Nottingham if we go as fast as we went today," Kuwabara said, sounding a little lost. "When's the contest?"  
  
Toshii frowned, closing his pack. "What contest?"  
  
Kurama glared at Kuwabara, who guiltily shut his mouth. "We want to miss the traffic," Kurama replied, thinking fast. "When all the spectators come to see who wins the hand of the princess, I expect there will be hideous crowds."  
  
"One would think you wouldn't mind the crowds so much," Toshii replied, his voice unemotional. "Better to go unnoticed."  
  
Kurama fixed his gaze upon Toshii. "What would you know about that?" he asked softly, hiding his mouth behind the apple. The little black wisps of hair peeking from under Toshii's bandanna stood like duckfluff in the night air. The wind blew it into his eyes, the only truly foreboding part of him, and he blinked the ends away. Silently, he pitched some bread to Kurama and Kuwabara before stuffing a piece into his own mouth.  
  
*  
  
For the second time in two days, Kurama's lips were enveloped by those of a horse.  
  
He batted the muzzle away and sat up, rubbing his mouth. His jaw promptly hit the ground.  
  
"You...!" came the incoherent battle cry as a fanatical, frenzied woman flew out of the attached cart and onto Kurama. She wrestled him against the ground, pinning him with her elbows.  
  
He groaned as his head bounced against the ground. "Hello, Shizuru."  
  
"Hello, my ass! Keiko never came back! And when I go looking for her, I found out she got..." Shizuru broke off in a growl and ground her knee into his thigh for emphasis. "I -trusted- you with her!"  
  
Kurama screwed his eyes shut as pain zigzagged between knee and navel. With a great wrench, he managed to roll her over so that he was on top. Ever the gentleman, his leg pinned both of hers and his hands kept her wrists on the ground. "If it's any consolation, you trusted Yusuke with her, too. They're in love!"  
  
Shizuru glared at him, struggled, and found she'd met a muscular match. Yet, she managed to look down her nose at Kurama as he knelt over her. "Who's going to clean house, hm? Not to mention you stole my -horse-!"  
  
"You may have it," Kurama conceded, bowing his head in assent. "And, well, I'm sure Urameshi Atsuko wouldn't mind having someone like you around the forge. Why not relocate?"  
  
Shizuru snarled. "You make it all sound so clean! But it's not going to work!"  
  
"Why not?"  
  
And it was in this position that Toshii found them. Shizuru writhed against the ground, trying to break free, and Toshii cried out.  
  
"What in hell do you think you're doing?" He grabbed Kurama's long ponytail and wrenched the thief's head back.  
  
"She attacked me first," Kurama responded, eyes tearing at the sting in his scalp. He released Shizuru and Toshii let go of his hair. "Makoto Toshii, meet Shizuru. It is to her that we owe the horse and it appears that the marriage of her ward under my care was not her desired outcome."  
  
"Damn' right it wasn't!" Shizuru cried, paying little attention to Toshii. She scrambled to her feet and wagged her fist under Kurama's nose. "If you weren't so..."  
  
"Charming? Handsome? Dashing?" Kurama supplemented, unable to keep the grin from his mouth. "Your horse seems to like me."  
  
"I'll take the other, thanks," Shizuru snarled, going to the tree to untie the grizzled mare. In the process, she trod upon Kuwabara's gut, and he folded like paper under the pressure.  
  
"Ow! Hey!" he cried, grabbing her foot. "Oh...uh, hi!" he quickly greeted upon recognizing the body attached to said foot. Shizuru frowned and kicked at him to free her leg, providing Kuwabara with an unhindered view up her skirts.  
  
(A/N: This in itself would be wrong on far too many levels, but remember: Shizuru and Kuwabara aren't related in this particular universe. Eh heh.)  
  
Shizuru untied her horse and led her over to the cart, expertly knotting the reins so the mare could stroll astride the wheels.  
  
"Is that all you've come for?" Kurama asked, rubbing the back of his head. "You could at least stay for breakfast. Did you ride all night?"  
  
"I've been following you over the course of a few days. I couldn't leave before the marriage, after all." Shizuru meant the statement to be far harsher than it sounded. Contrary to the expected response, Kurama smiled.  
  
"Well, isn't that special. So you're the only one following us?"  
  
Shizuru frowned. "Yeah."  
  
Kurama's benevolence shone from him like sunlight. The sudden onslaught of amicability nearly made Shizuru dizzy. "Well, then! Come on, Shizuru, eat with us and then you may be on your way home. I really do suggest you take up residence with the Urameshi family. They are wonderful people."  
  
Shizuru glanced from Kurama to Toshii. The dark-haired man turned to his own pack and began to eat, disregarding her presence. Kuwabara, however, nodded emphatically.  
  
"Fine, but only because the horse needs a rest."  
  
"Splendid. Kuwabara, pitch me an apple." When the copper-curled brute obliged, Kurama split the fruit against a rock and gave half to each horse. Toshii's own filly trotted over and neighed in disdain when Kurama showed his empty hands.  
  
Toshii whistled and the black horse came over to him, receiving a carrot for her obedience. Kurama smiled at the back of his head and wiped his hands on his pants.  
  
*  
  
Shizuru finished eating in considerably better spirits, especially because she and Kurama had gotten into a rather hilarious and intelligent war of words in which her vocabulary was thoroughly trumped. But she enjoyed it anyway because Kurama was ingenious at making her laugh.  
  
"Where are you headed?" Kurama asked when she got up to go.  
  
"Birmingham. It's the halfway point, after all."  
  
Kurama smiled. "Good luck to you." She nodded and hoisted herself into the driver's seat of the cart, turning the horses, and setting off and away.  
  
"Clever," Toshii murmured, loading his horse. "But how are you going to carry your things?"  
  
Kurama shrugged. "Well, most of the apples are going bad and Kuwabara's eaten most everything else. We'll pitch the food and keep whatever else is really important. The next town we hit, I'll sell the unimportant things. Coins are far lighter than goods, after all."  
  
Kuwabara grumbled. "It was easy walking with a bare back."  
  
"You've gone soft, then," Kurama countered, upturning a sack of rotten apples behind the tree to which the horse had been tied. "Have you got your flint?"  
  
"Got me flint, got me nail, got me sword."  
  
"Sword?" Toshii murmured, almost teasing in his inquiry.  
  
"Yeah, 's a family air-loomy," Kuwabara countered, such conviction in his voice that Kurama raised his eyebrows. Toshii shrugged and accepted the lie.  
  
When all was done, Kurama and Kuwabara's packs weren't so heavy as burdensome, a constant pressure against their backs. They walked on uncomplainingly, though Kuwabara made faces from time to time. 


	14. Shave and a Haircut

A/N: Patience, my loves, patience! I wrote half of this last night and almost passed out at the computer, so I decided it could wait. And here you have it now. Don't hurt me - I cut Kurama's hair off. *ducks*  
  
Enjoy  
  
***  
  
Evening came far too quickly, and with it Kuwabara's realization that they hadn't enough food to sate one of them, let alone two. He briefly considered wolfing down the remains for himself, but couldn't bring himself to do it. It would eat at him if he had.  
  
"We're good as starved," he said, tossing his pack at Kurama and settling down with his flint and his knife to start a fire. "The apples were most of what we had left."  
  
"We've gone without before," Kurama replied, smiling a little. "And now we've not got a horse to worry about. We passed a town a few hours ago and we'll pass another in the morning. There, we'll get food."  
  
Toshii sat cross-legged, leaning against a tree and watching Kuwabara strike at the flint. The burly redhead shrugged at Kurama's comment, grunting despondently but knowing better than to complain. Sparks flew from the stone, and Kuwabara expertly coaxed the embers into full-bodied life. He fed the flames with a few more dry twigs and settled back onto his haunches, chewing at a bit of loose skin on his lip.  
  
He started in surprise when a roll of bread landed in his lap. Kurama caught his much more gracefully, and smiled at Toshii. The dark-haired man did not look at them, but focused on the food in his hands.   
  
*  
  
Toshii awoke that morning, stiff and sore, cursing the dew and hard ground. He had too long been accustomed to beds and luxury instead of this taxing travel. Still, he had a job to do and going the long way was part of it.  
  
He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, accidentally knocking the red rag from his head. His dark hair clung to his scalp, greasy and dirty. He ran his hands through it and whipped the bandanna back on, tucking the brilliant white starburst back into safe concealment. Toshii glanced guiltily at his companions and, finding their eyes satisfactorily closed, leaned back again to feigning sleep until they awoke.  
  
Kurama, from his perch in a nearby tree, shut his eyes hard against what he had seen. After five hundred careful, silent breaths, he allowed an indulgent smile. He rolled out of the tree, landed on his feet, and crouched near Toshii.  
  
"I've got a proposition for you, Master Toshii," he whispered into the man's ear. "I think it will benefit us both."  
  
*  
  
They came upon a town near midday, and Kurama grinned to himself. As promised, he found a pawnshop and made a small sum on the goods he was willing to give away. It was hardly more than enough to buy a decent meal for one, but that wasn't a problem. He stowed the money in his purse and went on a stroll.  
  
Toshii and Kuwabara were somewhere else; he didn't care where. He was soul-content, happy to just be walking around with his particular prospects. Kurama walked between the merchant tents, grabbing a steaming skewer of meat when the cook wasn't looking. It tasted like dirt and was tough as shoe leather, but it was good. He wiped the grease from his mouth with the back of his sleeve and then looked down at himself.  
  
"Hunh." Kurama finished the meat, picked at his teeth with the skewer, and tossed it over his shoulder. There were a few tents that had clothing for sale, and he picked the one manned, rather ironically, by a woman.  
  
"Allo," she greeted, and he returned the salutation with "Good morning." He fingered the cloth like a connoisseur, darting between the stands quickly, expertly. He rubbed his chin, held some articles up to the sun, put on a show of being indecisive.  
  
When he walked away, bidding the girl "Thank you, but nothing for me," he walked comfortably, padded by the cloth shoved down his pants.  
  
When he was out of view, he ducked behind a horse stall, tore out of his old clothing, and pulled the new articles on. Well-fitting brown breeches that tucked into his boots didn't hang off of his hips so he had no need for the tatty rope. The shirt was pristine white, bleached from being beaten against a river rock in its prewashing. There were no sweat stains at armpits and collar, and the collar itself was bound by handsome, clean rawhide. His other clothing he shoved into the bottom of his pack. When he sauntered out, he appeared a new man, if only because his clothes no longer showed more skin than they covered.  
  
He met Kuwabara not far from a barbershop, and he spent the coins he'd garnered from the pawnshop on new haircuts and shaves for them both. He and Kuwabara both decided against the bloodletting that could have come as well. Kuwabara's hair was trimmed neatly so the curls gathered close to his head, unobscured by dirt and twigs.  
  
Kurama's hair was another matter altogether, rather an ordeal for his barber, that poured down his chair and over the floor once released from its braid. Once the twigs were freed, the whole mess was cut away, leaving just enough for a short tail at the base of his neck. The matted leftovers were swept from the floor and tossed, fire-bright, into the back. Kurama smiled and paid for them both, shivering periodically at the cold against his neck.  
  
Kuwabara glanced enviously at him, having kept his old clothes as it hadn't crossed his mind to swipe another set. Shaved and trimmed, Kurama presented a handsome front for his charisma, and he garnered many lingering looks as they passed.  
  
When they found Toshii, buying grain for his horse, the dark-haired man was hard-pressed to conceal his jealousy. He couldn't under his present circumstances, allow himself to have a shave and haircut, and he was feeling the loss.  
  
Until Kurama smiled at him and produced a stolen razor from his pocket.  
  
*  
  
"Do you think you can do it?" Kurama murmured, glancing from Toshii's bared throat to Kuwabara, who was currently fencing with a tree. He licked the razor and began to shave the stubble from Toshii's jaw.  
  
"Aa," was the reply, as the dark-haired man wasn't fully comfortable with having something so sharp so near his throat. He winced as Kurama nicked him.  
  
"Sorry, highness." Kurama grinned as scarlet eyes glared bloody murder down at him. "We'll enter as your guests. Not esteemed, but allowed just because you say so. And I won't say a thing about you until we get there. Not even to Kuwabara." He paused to wipe the razor and wet it again on his tongue.  
  
"Mm," Toshii murmured. He turned his head when Kurama's fingers grasped his chin and pulled. His Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed, almost getting him cut again.  
  
"What about the uncle?" Kurama asked as Toshii. "Well, there isn't one. I wasn't going to let you know unless I had something to hold over your head." Kurama grinned. "Or, in this case, at your throat. But I'm not threatening you, really. Unless you don't do what I want."  
  
He winked and let Toshii's head down, starting on his face. "I could have you killed."  
  
"That you could," Kurama agreed, wiping the razor on the grass, licking it, and starting again. "But if you do it now, there's no real good reason as to why. If you do it once we're in the competition, you'll have gone back on your word in making us guests. And really, we could get killed in the competition itself. Are we the types that could win?"  
  
Toshii stared into Kurama's handsome grin and refused to reply. 


	15. Hands

A/N: Oh, oh, oh, I'll bet y'all weren't expecting an update so fast! Thank goodness for school holidays. Anyway, welcome to another chapter. All of you who were wondering about the relationships I chose...this should foreshadow a little. Nobody hurt me! *hides* It was the main joke idea in the first place, and I never got rid of it.   
  
And their arrival in Nottingham is by no means the end of this fiction ^.^  
  
Enjoy  
  
***  
  
"Well, now." Kurama frowned down at his hands, never altering his pace but merely his focus.  
  
"What?" Kuwabara asked, leaning over Kurama's shoulder. "Aw, you've worn through another glove."  
  
"Hey, these lasted a long time." Kurama shrugged and tugged the worn gloves off of his hands with his teeth, slipping the daggers from the wrists into the waistband of his pants. "I'll just have to find some new ones later." He stretched his hands out, rubbing the fingers and cracking the knuckles.  
  
As they walked, one of his hands lit upon Toshii's shoulder, as it was prone to do. Every once in a while, Kurama would put that gentle pressure on the smaller man, checking to be sure he was still there, reinforcing their promise. Saying, "Told you I wouldn't say anything." Saying, "Keep trusting me."  
  
Without the glove, Toshii caught sight of Kurama's hands, pale after being hidden from the light for so long. They smelled of old leather and sweat, and bore no calluses from labor. Because of their treatment, Kurama had anomalously soft hands and yet maintained the dexterous fingers he so prized. More intriguing, though, was Kurama's ability to walk comfortably with two daggers shoved into his pants. Toshii wondered exactly how many more the redhead had upon his person.  
  
"Let's walk on a tightrope a moment," Kurama murmured gently, just on the edge of hearing. Then, he said, "So, are you in the market for a princess? Or just showing up for the pay in protecting her?"  
  
Toshii stared incredulously up at Kurama, realizing this was the thief's idea of a game. Kuwabara had no idea of Toshii's true identity, and he was obviously an idiot. But Toshii didn't know how -much- of an idiot. After a long pause, he replied, "If the competition is boring, I may compete for the hell of it. But I have no intention of marrying her."  
  
"Plus that, you'd have to deal with her brother, the prince. I hear he's rather lacking in good humor."  
  
"That's treason," Toshii replied on automatic, before realizing Kurama was grinning at him. The hand on Toshii's shoulder squeezed, then dropped. "I doubt he'd enjoy that if word got to him."  
  
Kurama laughed, genuinely pleased. "It truly would be dangerous to have him as a brother-in-law. I wonder how many contestants have considered that notion?"  
  
Kuwabara coughed discretely as possible, so much that birds were startled out of their trees. "The princess must really be worth it," he said in recovery.  
  
Kurama grinned at him. "She must. Every woman in that family line has been beautiful, from the paintings I've seen. The men are handsome as well, even with the birthmarks." At this, Toshii nearly choked. Kurama ignored him, nodding toward Kuwabara's confused look. "Every boy is born with a distinctive mark. That's how you know he's the heir. Romantic, yes, but true. I heard tell of one bastard child that had a mark tattooed upon him so he'd become king."  
  
Kuwabara listened, enraptured. "Did he get caught?"  
  
"Of course. He didn't look right. He was too tall, for one thing." Kurama sucked in his breath as Toshii's hand came up and pressed against his right hip, forcing the cold flat of the dagger against his skin so hard one of the edges pierced his flesh. Blood welled and stained the side of his breeches in one dark dot.  
  
Kurama put his hand over Toshii's, pressing his thumb into the smaller man's palm, and changed the subject.  
  
*  
  
"You push too far," Toshii said, leaning against the tree in which Kurama had decided to perch that night.  
  
"Come up here so you don't have to yell," Kurama answered, not looking down. Toshii snorted, but did as asked, swinging into the branches with little trouble. He sat in the crook of two limbs nearly directly over Kurama.  
  
"And really," Kurama added, "he'll find out sooner or later. Kuwabara's a smart boy, so I may as well rib you about it."  
  
"So why keep it from him in the first place?" Toshii spat down, laying over the branches so his head hung near Kurama's. The rag came off and landed in the redhead's lap.  
  
"He'd rib you too. By stealing the rag and making you get it back, by calling you by your real name in public, and other things. He can't keep his mouth shut. By 'sooner or later' I meant he'll find out when you reveal yourself, if you choose to do so." Kurama twisted the bandanna in his hands, running the red fabric over his fingers. "He's really got his heart set on your sister, you know that. He's a big romantic sometimes."  
  
"He'll have it beaten out of him."  
  
Kurama raised an eyebrow. "By you?"  
  
Toshii let one arm dangle, grabbing for the bandanna. "By whoever he fights." He snatched the red rag away and retied it over his hair. "If chance deems that he fights Makoto Toshii, Toshii will win."  
  
Kurama made a soft sound of neutral understanding and watched Toshii pull himself back up into an upright position. His silence ensured the conversation's end, but they both stayed awake for quite a while later, sitting in comfortable, mutual silence.  
  
*  
  
Toshii awoke stiff from sitting, but refreshed. The morning was cool, the sun wasn't too bright, and he was surprisingly warm. He opened his eyes and started at a familiar face popping up between his legs.  
  
"Morning!" Kurama greeted, grabbing Toshii's ankles and shaking. "Come on down or you'll be stiff all day." And Kurama winked, ensuring the ensuing confusion as to exactly how much of what he said was meant to be suggestive. Toshii got into a crouch, wincing at his complaining muscles, and swung down to the ground.  
  
"How do you do that every night?" he asked, stretching out his legs.  
  
Kurama shrugged. "You get used to it. You're lucky; I fell out a lot the first few times I tried it."  
  
Kuwabara snorted. "A natural at sleeping in trees. Everybody's got to be good at something, I guess." He pulled a hard cheese out of his pack. "Lookie what I got!"  
  
Kurama grunted in appreciation, pulling one of the daggers from his waist and trimming away the dirt on the outside. He cut thick slices for Kuwabara and himself, raising a questioning eyebrow at Toshii. The smaller man tossed them each a roll of bread in return for a piece of cheese.  
  
And so went every meal until Nottingham loomed on the horizon. 


	16. Elusive

A/N: Hello, folks, and welcome to an ... interesting chapter.  
  
I upped the rating for two reasons. One entails language; the other is violence. You'll see why in this chapter. Oh, and "Blue-eyes" is a cameo character who -will- appear again. Any guesses as to who he is? Hint: his ears wiggle when he's happy ^.^  
  
Welcome to Nottingham, everyone. I hope you find your stay enthralling, to say the least.  
  
Enjoy  
  
***  
  
Kuwabara couldn't help himself. He drooled at the sights before him. Tents lined the streets selling everything from roasted fowl to, yes, apples. Kurama, having become comfortable in his security, grabbed three skewers of meat unnoticed, passing two to his companions.  
  
"You aren't going to pay?"  
  
"No, mother." Kurama took a bite of food and grinned down at Toshii. "We're trying to save up our money to spend on our poor, sick uncle. It would be terrible of us to come as beggars instead of visitors."  
  
Kuwabara grabbed Kurama's arm, roughly pulling the redhead over so he could talk in his ear. "What's he gonna do when he finds out we don't have an uncle here?"  
  
"It doesn't matter," he replied and continued walking with Toshii. To the smaller man, he said, "Where shall we go, Master Toshii?"  
  
"Follow me," he said, a hint of a growl in his voice. With that, he ducked between two tents, nearly disappearing down an alleyway, running as fast as he could between people, vendors, carts, and any other debris he could put between himself and the thieves. He didn't hear the shouts behind him, didn't think of anything besides getting away. He wouldn't allow those insolent, idiotic ruffians to even try to enter the contest. His guests! The very thought of it made his blood boil.  
  
Ducking low under a line of laundry, the rag was knocked from his head. He bent quickly to retrieve it, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed him. Only one had.  
  
"Holy crap!" Kuwabara cried, doubling his pace to come at Toshii. "You're-" he was cut off by a heavy kick to the stomach that choked off his words and bent him double. Toshii again launched himself into a run, spurred by adrenaline and days of walking adding strength to his legs. Kuwabara could only cough and clutch at his stomach, trying to stand straight and staggering until he hit a wall.  
  
Toshii ran on, uncaring of what he knocked over. Feathers flew as he startled crates of chickens. At one point, he knocked over a barrel, spilling beer into the streets and snorting disgustedly to himself as the peasants rejoiced, fighting for a place near the growing puddle. He darted around corners, down countless sets of stairs, and slowed only when he was through a thick crowd and safe in a secluded alley between two crumbling buildings. Dust rained down upon him as he leaned against a wall to catch his breath. He checked both ends of the alley and saw no one after him.  
  
Toshii smiled to himself, readjusted his pack, and grunted in surprise as he was tackled to the ground. His head hit the rocks with a crack, so he had a hard time focusing his eyesight. He blinked a few times and nearly cried out in frustration. Brilliant green eyes gazed condescendingly into his as a familiar laugh filled his ears.  
  
"You've got to check the -windows- too, Master Toshii," Kurama murmured, effectively pinning the smaller man's hands above his head. He, too, was breathing hard, matching pace with Toshii. "Now, you didn't really believe you could get away? This is something Kuwabara really wants, and you're going to help him out. I held up -my- end of the deal, Highness," he hissed. "You're going to hold up yours."  
  
Toshii glared up at him with furious scarlet eyes and, without glancing away, sighed. Kurama didn't register this as a precursor to a deep breath, but Toshii soon filled his lungs to bursting and began to scream, half-wordless, for help.  
  
Kurama growled in frustration and, glancing once over his shoulder to ensure there were no Samaritans passing by at that moment, smothered Toshii's cry with his mouth. The smaller man's call was muffled but it rose an octave in surprise before sharp teeth clamped down on Kurama's lip.  
  
Pulling away and bleeding over Toshii's firm-closed mouth, Kurama said, "That's -not- how the deal goes." For emphasis, he lifted Toshii's hands and slammed them down hard on the rocky ground. With minor satisfaction, he watched the face below him work furiously not to contort in pain as one of the bones in his left hand cracked.  
  
"Son of a bitch," Toshii ground out between clenched teeth. "I could have you killed."  
  
Kurama grinned down at him, something akin to affection on his face. "You've told me that enough." He looked up as he heard footsteps coming down the alleyway.  
  
"Here, now, what's going on?" asked a blue-eyed young man. His face, normally used to smiling, had a hard time contorting into any semblance of a serious expression.  
  
Kurama tightened his hand around Toshii's, grinding the broken bone so the smaller man groaned. At the same time, he slid down along the smaller body, a smile on his face. And then he looked at the would-be savior. "What's it look like?"  
  
It looked, Kurama hoped, suggestive as all get out. Toshii's pack was trapped under his body, as was the sword at his belt, so his hips were pressed up against Kurama's body. The pain had sufficiently flushed the smaller man's pale features, and the bleeding had slowed on Kurama's mouth so it looked only like a love bite. He couldn't have falsified a better groan than what he had taken from Toshii, and was relatively sure the act would fool the boy.  
  
He stared, wide-eyed, until Kurama added, "What?" as huskily as he could manage.  
  
Blue-eyes flushed as brightly as his unruly mop of hair and backed away, stammering apologies for having broken in. Kurama laughed and released Toshii's hand, instead taking his wrist and hauling him upright.   
  
"What the -hell- was that?" Toshii snarled, yanking his injured hand from Kurama's grasp and probing gently at the lump in his palm.   
  
"Be careful with that," Kurama replied, looking down to his hand. "I think I broke a finger halfway through your hand. Move them; let's see which one it is."  
  
"This one." Toshii wiggled all his fingers but the middle, letting it stand proudly in Kurama's face. Yet he winced when he tried to put it down. "What were you doing?"  
  
Kurama grinned down at him. "You really don't know? You're sweet." He grabbed a hanging sheet and proceeded to mangle someone else's laundry, wrapping Toshii's hand with a few twigs to keep the bone still. "Anybody else would cut that hand off. Be glad you're with me. And you're staying with me, got it?" He put his arm around Toshii's shoulder and pulled him so that the smaller man's arm bumped the scabbing wound on his hip where a dagger had been pressed against the flesh in warning.  
  
He waved to Kuwabara when he saw him. Right before the burly man got to them, he murmured, "Oh, and he thought I was going to fuck the living daylights out of you. Too bad, huh?"  
  
By the time Toshii recovered enough not to blush brighter than the youth that had walked in on them, Kurama was tugging at his shoulder and pulling him back into the throng. 


	17. Luxury

A/N: To answer the questions, yes, Blue-eyes is Jin. You'll be seeing more of him in a little while.  
  
The contest starts soon, but not yet ^.^ Patience, loves! Much character development abounds...  
  
Enjoy  
  
***  
  
Kurama had to plaster his hand over Kuwabara's mouth and drag him away from the ears of passersby before the redhead could make a suitable outburst. Thus, they found themselves in the back of a stable with three highly apathetic mares. Not one brown eye rolled in their direction, though three sets of pointed ears perked when Kurama finally released Kuwabara's mouth.  
  
"What the hell is going on here?! You're...you're..."  
  
"I'm quite aware of it," Toshii replied, torn between glaring at Kuwabara and Kurama. He wasn't quite sure which of them exasperated him more.   
  
Suddenly, Kurama began to laugh. "Just who chose your name, Highness?"  
  
"Puu, one of my attendants. She liked the sound of it."  
  
"Puu, eh? Well, with a name like that..." Kurama grinned down at Toshii. "I'm sure the irony didn't escape you, Twin. I had an uncle who specialized in meanings of words and names." He winked. "Seemed to get sick often, too."  
  
Kuwabara stared at Kurama. "Everything you said went -woosh!- right out the window. I'm more than a little confused, you guys..."  
  
"Somehow I'm not surprised." Toshii turned from Kuwabara, focusing hard on Kurama. "I know little of nomenclature, but Puu prefers to study it. What did she call me?"  
  
"Makoto. Honesty. Toshii. Mirror image." Kurama couldn't keep the grin from his face. "She was setting you up for anyone with half a brain to figure it out."  
  
"Or she thought it'd be a cute in-joke." Toshii wrinkled his nose and scowled at the ground.  
  
Kurama canted his head to the side. "She sounds interesting. Is she your favorite?" When Toshii refused to reply, Kurama bit his lip against the laughter in his throat. Instead, he turned to Kuwabara. "I suppose I've got a bit of explaining to do."  
  
"You think?!" Kuwabara cried, thrusting his arms out from his body. It was at that precise moment the abused fabric of his shirt split over his shoulder with a loud ripping noise.   
  
Toshii resisted the urge to slap his own forehead, instead glancing disconsolately from Kuwabara to Kurama and muttering, "I've gotten myself into quite the mess. This is going to take a lot of work."  
  
*  
  
That evening, rather than securing lodgings for the night in a common inn or staying one more time in the wilderness, Toshii marched before Kurama and Kuwabara straight toward the palace. They were challenged more than once by meatheaded guards, superfluous security that was overly suspicious of three half-emaciated and travel weary young men. Toshii needed do nothing more than remove his rag for each set of guards and profuse apologies followed. Kurama couldn't keep his stomach from twisting in glee.  
  
Always, he kept his bare hand on Toshii's arm, dipping every once in a while near the man's broken hand in warning. His other arm was firmly linked with Kuwabara's, a leash of flesh to keep the man from darting off where he was most certainly unwelcome and unprotected.  
  
Granted, the splendor that met them was enough to overwhelm most common thieves that had not Kurama's inert tact. Feet unused to anything more lush than jagged rocky roads and grass-covered mud were met with rugs and level stone floors that gleamed with polish. Halls stretched for generations, defying all laws of perspective in height and length. Instead of heading toward the greatest hall that obviously led toward the throne room, Toshii led the thieves down a lesser path.  
  
"I am still Toshii to you," he hissed, and the order echoed off the walls. "But you are the guests of the prince."  
  
Kurama whistled low. "That's a hell of a stunt you can pull."  
  
"Hush." Toshii rapped on a door and said, "The three guests of His Majesty have arrived."  
  
An instant later, a head popped out of the doorway, and the pretty face that met them was utterly appalled. "Unheralded? Unclean? Unfed? Why, this is unacceptable! Come in, come in!"  
  
"Perhaps we merely came at an inconvenient time," Kurama replied, allowing himself to be swept into the room and the gazes of six young women. He raised his eyebrows. Two of them rushed to him, taking his hands and chattering as they dragged him toward a basin. The girls were efficient and mechanical in their work, but they were still quite female and in full possession of functional eyes. Kurama was not a little unnerved as they stripped him of his freshly acquired clothing and dumped him rather unceremoniously into the basin. He hoped the clatters his daggers made when they hit the ground went unnoticed in the commotion.  
  
He gasped at the frigid water and heard Kuwabara's startled cry as he got the same treatment. A third splash heralded Toshii's entrance into his own basin, but Kurama couldn't hear if he reacted because his head was dunked and rose petals clung to his wet skin.  
  
The lady that had opened the door oversaw the processes, clucking in disgust. "You three look like you've been through Hell and out the other side!"  
  
"Traveling was a mite more taxing than was normally expected. The one horse that survived is in the gardens," Toshii lied smoothly. "She'll be fine there so long as no-one chases her away."  
  
"I'll send for her to be put in the stables with the other horses," the matron replied. Kuwabara squawked and she turned her gaze upon him. "Oh, come now, you act as though you've never had this done."  
  
"Quite frankly, my lady, he hasn't," Kurama replied for Kuwabara, trying not to blush. The water had come fresh from a well and stole his body heat as rapidly as he produced it. The girls were working rose-scented water into every crevice of his being, insofar as he would submit to the treatment. They were giggling in a most disturbing manner, and he had to bat their cloth-covered hands away more than once. "He's -oh, for the sake of..." Kurama cut himself off as he turned again to his attendants, about ready to give them a good what for, though his methods were as of then undecided.  
  
"He is a mere country bumpkin but with impeccable swordfighting talent. He is the guest of the prince because his skill may lend intrigue to the contest," Toshii replied for Kurama, again falsifying an utterly believable story without so much as batting an eyelash. Kurama was impressed, though still biased on the side of his own skill.  
  
"How'd this happen?" one of the girls cried, trying to pull the bandage from Toshii's hand.  
  
"I broke a bone during a skirmish," Toshii replied, pulling the hand back to his chest. "It is bound well enough for now." And he icily held the girl's gaze until she relented. Kurama had to smile.  
  
"Up," one of the girls said, pushing none-too-gently at his back. He saw the other one held a towel, so he grabbed it first and rose second, securing the fabric at his waist and shaking out his wet hair. The length was still new to him, and he reached back to wring out a long braid that was no longer attached to his head. Instead, the hair fell in loose curls about his shoulders, dripping cold streams down his back.  
  
"You'll never get dry like that," one of the girls cried, grabbing another towel and rubbing at his torso, then managing by some singular feat to dry the majority of his hair by friction alone. At the end of it, Kurama's scalp burned.  
  
"We're going to burn those old clothes," the matron murmured, and the girls moved to pick up the cloth on the floor. Kurama held out his hands.  
  
"Wait!" He gently nudged the girls out of the way and, to the shock of the onlookers, pulled not one, not two, but five knives from his clothes. "I assume I'm allowed to keep my boots?" he asked, stuffing the daggers and his purse into the left one. The matron dumbly nodded.  
  
Toshii cut in again. "They are for protection. Had Kurama not been with us we would have been ravaged by thieves many times."  
  
"I assure you," Kurama interrupted, desperate to regain control of the center of suavity in the room. "That I am in every manner a gentleman, and pose no threat to any of you who have so kindly," here, he looked down at himself and smiled a little, "accommodated my presence. Each of us are in possession of a sword as well, for the contest." He allowed his clothes to be taken then, backing away in the most innocuous manner he knew.  
  
The matron, seemingly recovering from her original shock, clapped and three girls returned with six young men. The girls held fresh, folded clothes in their arms and the boys grabbed a basin on either side and dumped the dirty water in each out the window.  
  
They all exited, and the matron nodded to herself, pleased with her work. Which left Kurama, Kuwabara, and Toshii together with little more than towels and the clothes they were given.  
  
"What in the world was that?" Kurama asked.  
  
Toshii shrugged, shaking out his wet hair and slipping his arms into the shirt with which he was provided. "You want to look the correct part, right? A lot of this life is image, so there's a whole regiment of servants dedicated to maintaining cleanliness. We've got more clothes than you could imagine, and every one of those girls knows what size trousers you wear just from looking at you." Toshii shrugged. "It keeps them busy, I suppose."  
  
Kuwabara struggled to get his foot through one leg of his pants, finally managing to get the fabric over his hips after a few athletic moments involving vigorous hopping. He cinched it at his waist and turned to Toshii. "Hey, wait, if they washed your hair..."  
  
"They know who I am, moron," Toshii shot back. "But they're not paid to tell me that." He held up a black bandanna, securing it quickly and easily over the incriminating white starburst. "They're paid to do what they're told."  
  
Kurama smiled, finding tucked under his new shirt a strip of rawhide to secure his hair. "They're perceptive." He raked his fingers through the tangles, finding few despite the rough treatment he'd endured, and twisted it tight to tie it back. He pulled on the white sleeves of his shirt until they came to the bases of his thumbs and shook out his shoulders. His pants fit him well, the dark brown fabric ending just above his ankles and clinging to be easily slipped inside his boots. When he was fully dressed, he shouldered his pack, shoved one dagger into his bootstraps and left the others in the waistband of his new pants. One scraped over a scab that had nearly healed.  
  
"Come on, you may as well take a servant's room."  
  
*  
  
Kuwabara tossed his pack down on one of the pallets. "Whoa! Feathers, not corn?"  
  
Kurama grinned. "Such is the excess of royalty. Who normally sleeps here?"  
  
Toshii raised an eyebrow. "You expect me to know?" He shook his head. "I'll get you signed in; you may dine with the servants in the kitchen. I advise you not to leave this wing until the day of the competition."  
  
Kurama put his hand on his hip. "Somehow, I don't quite trust you to it. Would it be so terrible if I tagged along?"  
  
"Would it be so terrible if you left Kuwabara unattended?" Kurama turned and saw Kuwabara sprawled upon his pallet, his luxurious feather bed, already drifting into slumber.  
  
"I think he'll be fine. Think of it like this: wouldn't you rather supervise me when I'm exploring?"  
  
Toshii frowned, but let Kurama out before closing the door.  
  
*  
  
They nodded to the young man behind the desk. Kurama and Kuwabara had been signed in as the prince's private guests, and only that got them through the conniption the listmaker had at finding Kurama had no surname to provide. Finally, he was assigned one, but he promptly forgot it, attaching no meaning to the falsification. As they walked away, Kurama murmured, "My, wasn't he uptight?"  
  
Toshii shrugged. "It's not my concern. Where must I chaperone you?"  
  
"You said this place had gardens?" Kurama grinned down at Toshii, who nodded. Out a large set of double doors lay sprawling green country, with an orchard and, to the thief's delight, a flourishing rose garden. He bent over a lush, well-pruned bush and inhaled deeply, smiling to himself.  
  
"Gypsy Carnival. Beautiful blooms with an almost undetectable fragrance, should the day be windy." He glanced over to Toshii. "Not a usual pick. You must have a fantastic gardener." Something snorted near his head, and Kurama looked up to the familiar muzzle of Toshii's horse.  
  
"Well, hello! Somebody didn't believe you," he said over his shoulder. "I see no stable around this horse."  
  
Toshii shrugged. "I'll do it myself, then." He whistled and the horse followed as he walked, keeping pace alongside.  
  
"You're not at all like I'd imagine a prince. That should have sparked a temper tantrum," Kurama murmured.  
  
"It's not like we're given lessons."  
  
Kurama smiled. "True. A stereotypical prince would have waited until the contest to show himself and thin the competition, if at all. And yet you went out into the boonies and returned to your own home as a guest, even though all the servants still recognize you." He looked down and added, "Somehow, of all things, I'm still alive, though I've got nothing to hold over your princely head anymore."  
  
Toshii led the horse into the stables and proved himself capable in removing the bridle without losing any fingers. He gave the mare a carrot and locked her in her pen. He turned on his heel and strolled out, letting Kurama follow.   
  
"I'd intended to learn the number and skill levels of the men who plan to enter," he said softly, apparently talking to the horizon before him. "You weren't supposed to become part of the equation." Kurama came up alongside Toshii, but not a glance was spared in the redhead's direction. The sun was setting, painting the sky in hues of pink and yellow, casting a soft orange glow over Toshii's black clothing. "I humor you because I doubt either of you will win. You'd have to go through me first."  
  
Kurama accepted the statements because of their logic. But he smiled a bit as well. 


	18. Day One

A/N: Sorry it's been so long. Mitigating circumstances, a lack of inspiration, and various other factors. Blah.  
  
The pairings are finally revealed. Sort of ^.^  
  
***  
  
Days passed in monotony. Kurama was surprised he and Kuwabara had managed to keep their swords upon them, but those were the only personal articles they were allowed to keep. They were given new clothes, new boots, fresh haircuts, and close shaves. By the end of a few weeks' treatment, they at least looked the part of the prince's esteemed guests.  
  
On the morning of the tournament, Kuwabara shook Kurama awake. "Come on, come on, let's go!"  
  
Kurama rolled over, blinking blearily at the excited face above him. "Did you sleep?" he groaned.  
  
"Nuh uh!" Kuwabara grinned at him. "I'm fit as a fiddle, ready to go and win me a princess!" He was already dressed and, from the smell of him, fed. Kurama smiled a little and sat up, running a hand through his hair. He had gotten accustomed to the feather pallets and a roof over his head. Yet, at the end of this week he would again be thrust into the life of a vagabond. Kurama sighed a little at the thought of it, and then was mildly surprised to realize how he felt about his accommodations. He got up, scratching his stomach with open palms and adjusted his pants over his hips. Kuwabara handed him his sword as soon as he had his shirt over his head and his boots tied to his feet.  
  
"Patience, my friend," Kurama chided. "There's a lot of pomp and circumstance we've got to sit through first. Have spectators started to show up?"  
  
Kuwabara nodded emphatically. "They're all here to watch me kick butt!" He motioned to the door. "They're givin' out free food to competitors, and it's really good. Come on, eat something so you'll be ready to fight."  
  
Kurama smiled, setting his sword down where it had rested for the past week. "Kuwabara, did it ever cross your mind that you might have to fight me?" His look of shock indicated a negative answer. Kurama's smile grew into a grin as Kuwabara tried to figure a way out of such a dilemma. He didn't want to have to -kill- Kurama, by any means, but he also knew that Kurama -really- wanted that prize money, if not the hand of the princess. Just before he came to the correct conclusion himself, Kurama stated it for him. "If that situation should arise, I will let you win, and you may have your marriage if I get the rest of the winnings. Deal?" Kuwabara blinked, registering the easy compromise, then grinned widely. They shook hands in the hallway.  
  
The food being handed out to competitors was, by some marginal means, good. At least in terms of being unspoiled. As Kurama pretended to eat, he surveyed the competition. Very few appeared in good fighting condition, one of which he recognized as Blue-eyes from the alley not so long ago. Kurama stifled a chuckle as he noticed Blue-eyes had seen him and blushed like a fire engine. Kurama waved jovially, and set the bowl of porridge-slop down. He had eaten well enough the night before.  
  
When he approached Blue-eyes, he made a point of showing that he was unarmed. "Well, now, I know your face."  
  
"I'm sure we must have seen each other somewhere," Blue-eyes responded, trying to force his blush down.  
  
Kurama extended a hand. "Kurama." The other revealed his name: Jin. They shook hands in an uncommonly rough manner, each grasping the wrist of the other and pumping. "Are you a man of particular title?" Kurama asked, preferring to have this Jin comfortable in his presence and attempting small talk.  
  
Jin shook his head. "I'm just the best fighter within two days' walk from my village. If nothing else," he added with a smile that warmed his face, "it ought to be good exercise. I haven't fought anyone worth it in a long time. You?"  
  
"I'm here as a guest competitor, by the good graces of the Prince himself. But please, don't spread it around." Kurama glanced around conspiratorially, rather enjoying the charade of anxiety.  
  
Jin's great blue eyes widened further. "G-guest?" he stammered. "How'd you land that?"  
  
Kurama grinned. "Saved his sister's cat from a tree, so I get to see if I can marry her," he explained with a wink. Jin laughed, leaning his head back as he did so. Jin was wiry and tanned, undoubtedly from much work in the fields and countless hours of swordplay. He moved with the feline grace that comes of a natural fighter, but his mannerism was fundamentally friendly, open, and fun-loving. Kurama had the feeling that his laughter was utterly genuine, a thing never to be falsified. They talked for a while more until Kuwabara found them and nearly shoved Kurama outside in his excitement.  
  
Kurama stepped into the sunshine, then frowned as he realized he'd left his sword in his room. Making a hasty excuse, he sprinted back inside, down a hallway he had come to regard as familiar, and grabbed his sword. On his way back out, he nearly overtook Toshii.   
  
"Fashionably late?" Kurama asked, catching his breath and falling into step with the smaller man.  
  
"Hn," Toshii replied in the tone of one far too capable to care for fashion. Kurama smiled, walking with him again into the sunshine. Their names were announced, but Kurama paid them no mind, looking out into the crowds. A surprising number of people had attended, even though this was the first day. Thirty-two people were to be whittled to eight by the end of the day, with two battles apiece for each fighter. Two days later, the eight would become two, and on the final day the winning match would be fought. The thirty-two finalists had each gone through an extensive screening process, in which an utter free-for-all was held in a pen of hundreds. Kurama, Kuwabara, and Toshii had been the only people to escape this elimination round.   
  
Kurama's first battle took place at the same time as Kuwabara's, in two adjacent rings. Facing Kurama was a hulking brute, nearly seven feet tall and in possession of more muscles than an ox. His sword seemed dwarfed by his hands, but it whizzed through the air fast enough to sing. The fighters were all expected to don their own coats of armor, and while Kurama wore one provided by the royal armory, his opponent saw little need for anything beyond a leather breastplate and breeches.   
  
Seconds into the fight, Kurama took a thundering blow to the head, and fell to the ground with stars swimming behind his eyes. He forced himself upright, however, and tore the helmet from his head. Blearily cursing the heavy armor for impeding his movements, he took extra precaution with his opponent. Hot blood was seeping from his crown and matting his hair, but he ignored the ache and dodged the blows sent at him. Where many swordsmen focused on protocol and the giving of a good show, Kurama's sword soon found it's mark at the base of his attacker's skull, severing nerve endings and sending a spray of blood into the air. He yanked the metal free and wiped it on the fallen man's leather breeches, then turned quickly to check on Kuwabara.  
  
The copper-curled man wasn't faring so well. His armor sported dents on the shoulders and forearms, and he was being backed around the ring by the offensive of his opponent. Kurama winced as the clang of metal on metal sent pain shooting behind his eyes, and he reached up to feel the sticky, hot blood now trailing down his neck. When Kuwabara finally appeared to be getting the hang of it, Kurama staggered out of the stadium.  
  
He was caught by Toshii. "I saw the blow you took. Come with me."  
  
Kurama shook his head, wincing. "Can't walk."  
  
"Yes, you can. Come on." Toshii half-dragged him to a quiet room away from the noise and had him sit on a chair. Toshii handed him a glass of water and wiped the blood away from Kurama's scalp with a damp cloth. As the adrenaline ebbed, Kurama's eyes drooped. He suddenly felt very tired, but Toshii yanked on his hair to keep him conscious.  
  
"It's just a small cut, but you'll also have a lump. And in your first fight, too."  
  
"I thought you'd rather I lost, eh?"  
  
"You're my guests, aren't you? It'd be pathetic if you didn't make it to at least the third round." Toshii began to wrap bandages over the wound, a long stream of cloth that pressed hard against Kurama's forehead, trapping some of his hair. "It would reflect badly on me. So you can't die yet." The quiet was broken by a roar and a familiar muddle of four syllables. "It seems your companion won," Toshii commented softly, tying the bandages in a tight, efficient knot. "If you'll excuse me, I have a battle to win. Rest for this afternoon, but don't you dare fall asleep."  
  
Kurama murmured assent, guessing that nodding would do him more harm than good. He was not as tired as he had been, and drank some more water to keep himself alert. Finally, he crossed to the single window and stared into the sun until, despite himself, he dropped off.  
  
*  
  
"Idiot!" Kurama awoke to a low stream of expletives and cold water on his face. Toshii splashed him one more time and stared into his face. "How many fingers?" he asked, holding up a hand.  
  
"Two," Kurama responded immediately, not even taking the obligatory half-second to come back to consciousness. "What time is it?"  
  
"Midday mealtime. Good thing your friend demanded I check on you."  
  
"Kuwabara? He's okay?"  
  
Toshii snorted. "Yes. Eat this," he added, thrusting an apple between Kurama's hands. Kurama smiled at the fruit and obligingly bit in, realizing that chewing didn't hurt as much as it should have. "You should be fine for this afternoon's match," Toshii commented, watching Kurama closely. "And then you have tomorrow to recover."  
  
"How was your match?" Kurama asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
Toshii raised one right back at him. He snapped his fingers. "Like that."  
  
Kurama murmured, "I wonder if I'll be pitted against you."  
  
"It would be a miracle for you to last so long, if you were injured so in the first match," Toshii shot back, disdain in his voice.  
  
"I'd rather not wear the armor," Kurama continued, shaking out his shoulders. "I can't move in it."  
  
"I don't wear it," Toshii responded, understanding in his tone. "I don't need to. Leave it off." Kurama nodded and got out of the chair, stretching his arms to the sky. Toshii watched him, eyes riveted, and Kurama knew.  
  
*  
  
The second battle was by far easier and less painful. Kurama fought nearly naked, in only his clothes, and was much faster than his armor-coated opponent. Still, the crowd jeered at him for looking like an invalid, vulnerable as he was and sporting the bandages about his head from the last fight. Still, they began to chant his name once they realized Kurama had the upper hand. He deftly avoided blows aimed for him, while waiting for the perfect instant. Kurama's fighting style was really more of a dance, and his hair flew behind him as he moved. When his opponent raised his arms to deliver the killing blow, Kurama jammed his sword in the empty space left under the right arm, and his opponent dropped his sword with a scream. The bloody blow was all that was required, as the impact shattered the victim's shoulder and rendered him incapable of handling a sword. Kurama knew his down-and-dirty style was not fashionable, but it got the job done better than any other methods.  
  
Kuwabara, however, acted completely out of manners, and fought like he had seen the gentlemen fight. This cost him physically, and he won his match by a very narrow margin. Afterward, he was carted off to have his armor peeled from him and his bruises wrapped. And finally, Kurama was able to watch Toshii fight.  
  
When the dark young man stepped into the ring, the crowd's cries increased tenfold. He paid them no heed, but bowed to his opponent and, an instant later, the body clattered to the ground in a puff of dust. Toshii wiped his sword on the leg of his pants and sheathed it, nudging the body with his foot. Blood pooled beneath his felled and silent opponent, a testament to the life already extinguished. Kurama couldn't keep the amazement from showing on his face. The audience had seen a similar performance earlier on, and some hissed at the rapidness of the fight. But the next ring over started yet another match, and so their attention was diverted.  
  
Kurama came to Toshii as he left the stadium. "Well, now, you never told me you could fight like that."  
  
Toshii shrugged. "You never asked."  
  
*  
  
That evening, the winners were invited to a banquet in their honor. Kurama was pleased to see Jin there, and the redhead waved him over. Kurama took a seat next to him and pointed wordlessly at the heavy bandages covering Jin's left arm.  
  
Jin shrugged. "Got the skin sliced off when I wasn't paying attention. Just bleeds a lot. I saw you take that bump before, and boy! It looked like it hurt."  
  
Kurama nodded. "That I won't lie about. However, I feel quite fine now. It didn't even bleed all that much." He fingered the knot in the bandages on his head with a small smile.  
  
"That Toshii that carted you off, I'd -hate- to have to fight him. Though, the way things are goin', I'll probably have to." Jin frowned at the turkey leg in his fist. "I hear he's an assassin!"  
  
Kurama shook his head, the story with which Toshii had provided him easily surfacing. "No, I know him. We're both guests of the prince, but Toshii is here to beat all the competitors to make sure a weak man doesn't marry the princess. He's sort of like a bodyguard, but right now he's just taking out the weaklings that managed to make it into this part of the competition." Kurama grabbed a goblet of wine from a passing tray and took a sip, grinning at its quality. "This, now -this- is good. Have some," he added, passing the goblet to Jin. Blue-eyes raised an eyebrow at the intimacy, but took a sip and nodded his agreement. Neither of them had sampled anything other than homemade liquor and beer, so the wine was a rich treat. "And the good bit is, we've got tomorrow to sleep off a hangover. Wonder how many of these greatly-esteemed young men will get shitfaced?" Kurama asked, and Jin laughed into his turkey leg.  
  
"Kurama!" Kuwabara cried, heavy hands descending upon the redhead's shoulders. "Glad I found you! I just saw her."  
  
"Saw who?" Kurama asked, shaking Kuwabara's hands from him.  
  
"Her! The princess! She's -gorgeous-!" Kuwabara grinned maniacally. "And she's gonna be mine!" He clasped his hands over his heart and danced around, swiping a goblet of wine from the closest servant. He cavorted off, singing to himself.  
  
Jin turned to Kurama. "You know that guy?"  
  
Kurama smiled, shaking his head. "He's the third guest. Because I wouldn't come without him." He took another sip of wine. "A little confident, yes, but he's a good fighter."  
  
Jin glanced again at Kuwabara, mild amusement on his face, but accepted Kurama's story. "Not to offend, but you two seem unlikely."  
  
Kurama grinned. "That as it may be, we are quite the pair. Do you know, he was an urchin that tried to steal my shoes?" Kurama waited as Jin laughed a bit. "Yes, and then I tried to steal his. I actually succeeded. And that night he came after me and tried to beat me up to get them back. Well, after that, we were practically inseparable."  
  
Jin grinned. "You must have raised hell for your mothers, acting like such thieves."  
  
Kurama nodded, preferring to leave Jin's assumption unrebuked. The wine was making him warm and comfortable, taking away the ache in his head and leaving a pleasant taste in his mouth. He passed Jin the goblet again, and blue-eyes obliged him with a sip and passed his turkey leg over in an unasked return. And so, in companionable conversation, the two shared a meal away from the drunken revelers. There were no women to distract the fighters from their ultimate prize, but the eight that had survived were more than enough. Jin and Kurama stood apart from the others, but Kuwabara and four men had formed a laughing, farting, hiccuping chorus line that belted out popular tunes off-key. The final, the dark and silent Toshii, held his own corner and did not eat, but glanced at Kurama from time to time.  
  
When Kurama had acquired the warm blush of the happily buzzed, Toshii came to his side. "That's not going to be good for your head."  
  
"Says you!" Kurama returned, grinning at him. "I feel great."  
  
"You won't in the morning. Come on, you've had enough." Toshii extended his hand, grasping Kurama's wrist and taking the goblet from it.  
  
Kurama got up and slung his arm around Toshii's shoulders. "Yes, mum. Goodnight, Jin."  
  
Jin could only reply wordlessly, as his first close-up look at Toshii sent his first memory of Kurama surging to the surface.  
  
Kurama giggled as they walked away. "You know who he is? Familiar, isn'e?"  
  
"Quiet, you drunken fool," Toshii responded, forcing Kurama out into the open air. They cut through the courtyard to get to Kurama's room, Kurama stumbling more than was really necessary if only for the death-glare he got from Toshii.  
  
He turned and stood in the doorway when they arrived at his room, keeping Toshii from entering to force Kurama to sleep.  
  
"Thanks for takin' care of me and all, but it's only the first night and I've got to draw the line," Kurama drawled, his face glowing. He patted Toshii's shoulder and planted a clumsy, close-lipped kiss on his silent mouth before closing the door and collapsing into quiet laughter on his pallet.  
  
It took a few minutes for Toshii to walk away. 


	19. Interim I

A/N: Hehe. I couldn't resist. I left off at a sort-of cliffhanger last time...and this time there's a nice little resolution. Whee.   
  
***  
  
Kurama woke to a throbbing ache at the base of his skull and Kuwabara's hearty snoring. He groaned, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. Toshii's admonishment rang in his ears and he grinned a little, acceding the point to him if only in thought. He sat up and looked over to Kuwabara, who was sprawled over his pallet in quite a state of disarray. Kurama made the mistake of breathing through his nose for the first time that morning, and recoiled at the stench of sour liquor.  
  
"Really, my friend, you shouldn't drink so much," Kurama muttered, getting to his feet and running his hand through his hair. His fingers encountered the old bandages and he smiled a little. He let them be, shoving his feet into his boots and heading out to secure some food.  
  
As soon as he stepped out of the room, he was grabbed about the arm by a young lady with bright blue eyes and riotously curly black hair. "'Koto told me to wait for you here. Come on, I'm supposed to take you to him."  
  
"'Koto?' Who's that? And who are you?" Kurama asked, blinking at the woman who began to drag him down the hall.  
  
"You know, Ma-koto. Toshii." In a whisper, she further clarified, "The prince! And I'm Puu."  
  
Kurama stopped to get a good look at her, then smiled. "He's told me a lot about you." He grinned. "You must be very clever, if you really did pick his name."  
  
Puu grinned like a jackal. "Yeah, well. Come on, what's-your-name."  
  
"Kurama," the thief replied, hooking his arm in hers. Puu led him up a set of stairs he had been forbidden to touch. The guards standing watch nodded at her and gave him a sidelong glance that spoke volumes of disgust. Kurama reached up and untangled a few of his matted locks, standing straighter and prouder in the face of their attention. When they reached the top of the steps, Puu turned left and forced him to follow, and Kurama found himself in a handsome, large room.  
  
It was dominated by a great, white bed with wooden frame and woolen coverings. There were two chairs, and in one of them sat Toshii. On the table beside him rested fresh bandages, and a bowl full of water with a clean cloth. He did not rise when Kurama came in. Puu sat the redhead down and patted his shoulders, leaving him to hover by the doorway.  
  
Toshii reached up and undid the knot of Kurama's bandage. "How's it feel?"  
  
"Better," Kurama replied, rubbing his bare forehead. He ran a hand through his hair as Toshii got to his feet and moved around behind him. He hissed when cold water met the scabbing wound and Toshii's sharp, strong fingers probed expertly at the lump on his head. Before long, Toshii was rewrapping fresh cloth around his head and tying another knot.  
  
"There. Now, then," Toshii murmured, and punched Kurama hard in the face. "That was for last night."  
  
Kurama, nearly knocked from his chair, reached up and rubbed his jaw, tasting gingerly to see if he bled. He knew better to strike back, though his instincts screamed for retaliation. "I was drunk last night! What did I do?"  
  
Toshii snorted and turned away. "Take him, Puu," he ordered, not looking back to Kurama.  
  
The redhead frowned and shook Puu's hands off. "Wait just a minute, -highness-," he sneered. "What the hell made you hit me?" (It would be opportune in this moment to reveal a piece of dramatic irony: Kurama knew full well what he did, and rather enjoyed it. He wasn't expecting to be hit, however, and thus has gotten quite riled. It might do him good to hear the words from Toshii himself.) When the smaller man didn't respond, Kurama reached for him. Like lightning, Toshii's hand came around and grabbed Kurama's wrist so hard the bones popped.  
  
"Don't -touch- me. We are not friends, nor have I any obligation to you. Leave."  
  
"You damn' well have an obligation to explain why you hit me!" Kurama cried, putting a hand to his head when his own shouting intensified his headache. "Not like it was any good for my head even -after- you fixed it up." Kurama grinned inwardly. "Which brings me to another question. Why have you been attending to me -personally-? It'd look bad on you if I died early, yes, but what about Kuwabara? You left -him- to the common medics but took me off. Seems to me you aren't telling me something."  
  
Toshii remained silent, but clenched his jaw. Kurama turned to Puu and was surprised to see her grinning at him. She winked and took a few steps back, unsure of the situation but completely confident in Kurama's current manipulation of her master. Kurama stepped slightly closer to Toshii, softly asking, "You liked it, didn't you?"  
  
Toshii whirled, his eyes narrowed. He was about to growl something along the lines of "I knew you knew! Liar!" when Kurama grabbed him by the sides of his face and pulled him into a hard kiss. Toshii's entire body, already tensed like a spring, convulsed to near the point of explosion. His hands came up and gripped Kurama's wrists, unable to do anything else. When Kurama's lips parted enough for him to breathe, Toshii's own gasp for air was hindered by a soft, pink tongue that tasted vaguely of sleep and liquor. With one great effort, Toshii pulled Kurama's hands from his face and backed away, breathing hard.  
  
"Out," he said, staring at Kurama. The thief grinned and backed slowly away, heading for the door. Toshii reached out and caught his sleeve. And then looked to the stymied, blue-eyed attendant still by the door. "I mean it, Puu. Out."  
  
*  
  
"Nngh. Food." Kurama enjoyed whining in such a place of luxury, and made his way down to the kitchens. He grabbed a leftover boiled egg from breakfast and picked away the shell with his fingernails as he set into people-watching in the courtyard. Various guests and spectators milled about, having a downright party inside the castle walls while the normal peasants had their own outside it. He rather preferred the company of the latter group, but didn't trust Kuwabara if he left.  
  
He jumped, nearly dropping the egg, when two heavy hands clamped down on his shoulders. "Well, now, what have we here?"  
  
"Remove your hands from me, sir, and I may let you keep them," Kurama hissed, not turning. The hands were lifted. He continued to pick eggshell away until the egg was clean, then popped the whole thing into his mouth. The grotesque lump rested in his cheek for a moment before sliding down his throat, and only then did he turn. Two intelligent, smiling brown eyes gazed back upon him.  
  
"Well, if it isn't the duchess' pet driver," Kurama murmured. "What brings you here?"  
  
"My lady wishes to watch the competition."  
  
"No, I want to know what -you- are doing. And why, of all things, you thought it would be a good idea to bother me." Kurama raised an eyebrow at the youth.  
  
The driver grinned, playing into the hostile game. "I could ask the same of you. It just so happens my lady refused to leave the house without me, and so here I am. And, well, I'm bored."  
  
Kurama shrugged, leaving the explanation at that. "It just so happens I am a guest of the prince's, fighting in the competition for his sister's hand. I'm the crazy man that works without armor."  
  
The youth appeared unfazed. "I hear tell of two."  
  
Kurama grinned. "The other cares not for marriage. Tell me, what do you know of Yusuke and Keiko?" he asked, changing the subject to a common bond.  
  
The youth shrugged. "The wedding went well enough, and Miss Shizuru is living with Miss Atsuko. For women, they're quite successful. When we left they chattered constantly about the legacy of Yusuke the Second and Third." He gave an easy smile. "The goodbyes were not so painful as I'd thought, if only to escape the constant arguing."  
  
Kurama laughed. "That sounds familiar. If I could not break him, she can. I only fear for this world if there were to be two of him, or three." He shoved his hand into his pocket. "I can't very well call you 'coachman' the rest of your life. Who are you?"  
  
"Koenma is good enough. And I know you as 'that scoundrel, Kurama' or something along the lines." Koenma winked. "All said in greatest affection." He winced as his name was called. "That must be my lady. Shall I introduce you?"  
  
Kurama winced at the joke. "I do believe we've met."  
  
"I'll distract her; you go on. It'll be a nice surprise when she sees the crazy man who fights without armor." Koenma shooed him off and Kurama retreated to the kitchens, glad of losing an obligation to be smothered in lace and perfume and disdainful cotton-candy eyes. He grabbed an apple, glad to get the taste of egg out of his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully as he wandered.  
  
He hadn't half expected the rash actions taken in Toshii's room to be returned. He'd fully awaited a rebuttal, some form of violence to reassert Toshii's inherent masculinity, some evidence that the man really was ruled by his testosterone-infused ego. But it seemed that the boy had been raised as only a figurehead, a rigid, stoic prince with no real affection from those deemed to be his peers. Yes, Puu was obviously very caring, but she also seemed to be annoying and a mite smothering, if not a match for Toshii's acerbic wit. Perhaps Kurama's attentions were the first of the sort that Toshii had encountered.  
  
A man was expected to do the wooing in the relationship, but who in their life has not wanted to be wooed? And, Kurama realized, he wanted the man for more than his money. He could have the prize money if he so wished, but he wanted Toshii, too. Just the thought of those strange, awkward moments when they were alone, when Kurama had to force himself to take it slow...his patience was by no means infinite, and he felt that only Toshii could bring him to be so gentle. It was a point in the dark-haired man's favor that he did not panic or clamp his teeth down when he was surprised, but waited until he understood what Kurama meant to do. And just those few minutes of tentative exploration were enough to set Toshii's body on fire; Kurama could feel it in his pulse.  
  
But oh, what a delicate situation was he ever in.  
  
*  
  
The day was uneventful to the point of being boring. Kurama wandered about the grounds, much as he had in the weeks before, having already explored all the rooms into which he was allowed. Mainly, he stayed outside in the courtyard, making small talk with visitors that came by, and wondering where in hell Kuwabara was.   
  
His question was answered when, around midafternoon, the copper-curled brute dove behind him.  
  
"She talks -so- much!" he whined, pointing at the woman headed toward them. Kurama couldn't help but laugh when Lady Botan met him, glaring surreptitiously at Kuwabara while offering her hand.  
  
When recognition dawned, she hastily withdrew it. "Why, you're the..."  
  
"Yes, my lady, in fact I am. I am also a guest of the prince here, and quite invited to make conversation with those such as yourself. I promise I'll try no devilry," Kurama added with a grin. He couldn't help it. He extended his hand to meet hers and perfectly executed a kiss, not even bumping his chin into her fingers. "Did you see the first round yesterday?" he asked, only to be polite. Kuwabara still stood behind him, and Kurama elbowed him for being so uncouth.  
  
"No," Botan replied. "We arrived late, but have heard that so far the matches have been very exciting."  
  
Kurama nodded. "That they were. Who, pray tell, is 'we'?"   
  
She blinked her pretty eyes at him. "Merely my coachman and myself, and a few attendants. Why?"  
  
"I wonder if I should hide from Keiko's wrath, having borrowed her horse without asking as I did."  
  
Botan smiled. "You brought her a husband; that should be payment enough."  
  
Kurama placed his hands over his heart. "Oh, if only all women were like you!" They laughed at the statement, but Botan's tone was a little higher, a little sweeter than it had been. Kurama knew he was flirting, knew it could get him in trouble, but there wasn't much else he was going to be able to do to continue a conversation. And she broke the boredom of his day, even if he did have the ever-stoic Kuwabara breathing down his neck.   
  
Apparently, 'trouble' came in the form of a lithe, brunette young man in a dapper uniform. Koenma came by and requested a moment alone with his lady, on urgent business, but the glare he sent at Kurama as they walked away spoke volumes. Kuwabara later asked him why he began to laugh.  
  
*  
  
Dinner was louder than the night before, the fighters not dulled by their exhaustion. Kurama sat again with Jin. "Do you really want to marry her if you win?" Kurama asked at one point.  
  
"I hear she's beautiful," Jin replied, drinking water to remain sober for the next morning. "And I would rather like to have a place to settle down upon. I'd marry her in an instant."  
  
Kurama raised an eyebrow. "Sounds to me like you'd marry any girl with sufficient dowry."  
  
Jin laughed. "Sure. I worry more about land and friends. I know I'd get along with her well enough, but that's only part of the bargain." He put his chin on his hand and his elbow on the table. "Everybody seems more concerned with the fact that she's a princess, and yeah that's great, but I don't really care so much about that." He grinned. "I came to fight."  
  
Kurama smiled back. "Me too. You just watch: we beat all the lovesick fops who came for the title."  
  
Jin's laughter came easy to him, and it again rang in Kurama's ears. "Here's to us, then. Down with lovesick fops!" They clinked their glasses together and water sloshed over the table. "Personally, I can't wait for tomorrow to be over. I want more of that wine."  
  
Kurama grinned. "I know where you're coming from." He pushed his chair out with a grunt. "Well, I'm turning in early because I know Kuwabara will be jumping on me to get up at daybreak. Hopefully I'll be able to watch you fight tomorrow."  
  
Jin grinned. "Hopefully I'll fight you. Sleep well, friend."  
  
Kurama nodded and left with a smile on his face. He walked down the hallway to his room, but was stopped by a hand on his arm.  
  
"How do you think tomorrow will happen," Toshii asked softly, "if you continue to win?"  
  
*  
  
The night sky was freckled with glittering stars, and the full moon drowned the light of all the candles. The bed was warm and taught, the sheets unruffled except for the indentation where Kurama sat. Toshii was learning quickly, straddling Kurama's lap and deftly mimicking the redhead's mouth. He reached up and suddenly untied Kurama's bandage, releasing his lips and pulling the redhead's forehead against his shoulder so he could check the lump on his head.  
  
"It's healing well enough," Toshii murmured, probing at it with sharp, strong fingers. "You'll not need the bandages tomorrow."  
  
Kurama turned his head to lean his face into Toshii's neck. "You'll let me fight?"  
  
"I can't think of a reason to keep you from it that would be accepted by the populace. And I can't ask you to lose." Toshii ran his hands through Kurama's short hair, his fingers coming to rest at the bare nape of his neck. "I can't get used to this on you."  
  
Kurama chuckled a little. "It got in the way before. I like you. You understand."  
  
Toshii snorted, then tensed as Kurama's arms snaked around his waist. It took a few seconds for his body to relax as the redhead pulled his body close, but the strong warmth of the thief's arms about him was reassurance enough. "It would be stupid to ask you to do that for anything. It's not about her or the money anymore."  
  
"Mm. You're right. Do you know what I promised Kuwabara, though?" Toshii did not respond, and Kurama took this as a negative answer. "I promised him that if I won, he could marry your sister."  
  
Toshii grunted. "That wouldn't work according to the rules."  
  
"He didn't know that." Toshii's clothes smelled of the rosewater they were washed in, but under that was old sweat and dirt, the familiar scent of sleeping outdoors and -living- like a real person. Kurama could feel the man's pulse through his cheek, and it was slowing in comfort. "Would you let him?"  
  
Toshii frowned. "If he should win."  
  
Kurama smiled. "And if I should win?"  
  
Toshii, careful not to pull Kurama's hair, brought the thief's face to his own. Between kisses, he muttered, "Then, too." 


	20. Day Two

A/N: Sorry this took so long. It was kind of hard to figure out what to do with it, where to go. But I like this chapter probably the best out of all of them. Hello to all returning readers and welcome to the folks who just read the entire thing ^.^ It appears lots of folks are doing that. I'm glad you're enjoying this. For a while, I wasn't. But I found my love for it again. It's fun.  
  
Enjoy. This is the second-to-last chapter. The next one is the end. But, knowing -my- schedule, it may not be for a while. Eh heh.  
  
Oh, and Hanson's "Believe" is the most beautiful song in the world. If you've only heard "Mmmbop" you have no right to bash them. ^.^  
  
***  
  
Kurama woke to Kuwabara's snores, a comfortable roar to which he had grown accustomed. He sat up, adjusted his shirt, and grinned slightly. He stretched his arms to the ceiling and yawned, blinking sleep from his eyes as his heart rate returned to wakened pulse. When he got up, Kuwabara rolled over and left a sheen of drool from his pillow to his chin. Kurama smirked.  
  
"What a prince you would make, 'Duke' Kuwabara," he murmured, nudging the recumbent lug with his foot. He blew the extra hair out of his eyes and frowned at its length. Only a few weeks had passed since the mass of it had been cut away, and it had already grown long enough to be a nuisance in front.   
  
"Come on, get up," Kurama said, more forcefully this time. Kuwabara shot upright, blinking muzzily.  
  
"Wha? Wha'sgoinon?" He rubbed at his face with his sleeve and looked around. "Morning? Morning! Yeah! You just too excited about watching me kick butt again today?"  
  
Kurama smiled. "I'm sure. But first, the prizefighter must be fed."  
  
Kuwabara nodded emphatically and followed Kurama out toward the kitchens. There, Kurama grabbed for himself - what else? - an apple, and Kuwabara secured some bread and meat.   
  
"Sleep well?" Someone asked from his elbow. Kurama smiled over at Jin.  
  
"Of course. You?"  
  
Jin nodded. "Oi, have you seen the lists today?" When Kurama shook his head, Jin grinned. "You're up against -me-, and first!" Jin rubbed his chin. "The only bit I'm worried about is whoever wins'll fight that Toshii 'cause I know he'll beat whoever he's fighting first. Ooh, he gives me the willies."  
  
Kurama smiled. "That's only if you beat me. Don't assume a thing, my friend." And Jin's grin grew wider.  
  
*  
  
Fighting truly was exhilarating when one's opponent was not, to use Toshii's terminology, an idiot. Jin had shed his armor to make the playing ground even, as he said, and fought in a series of feints and jabs that taxed not only the reflexes but the patience. Kurama would have become exasperated with him had it not been for the conversation they held as they fought. Jin truly was an interesting competitor.  
  
"So I told the bloke, I says, 'That is -not- how you shoe a horse!' and he wouldn't believe me until, you know, the thing nearly shattered the family jewels." Jin laughed, sparing the moment to close his eyes as he enjoyed the end of his own story, and Kurama took the instant to laugh as well. It was a strange way to fight, but one with many rest stops and thus they could last much longer.  
  
"You know, you're the only one," Jin paused to block a well-aimed thrust and catch his breath, "who suffers me long enough to really let me have fun. Won't you try to kill me?"  
  
Kurama grinned, dancing with him over the dirt. "Not you. You're too worthy to fight again another day."  
  
"We'll have to make a date, then!" Jin countered, swiping suddenly at Kurama's feet. The thief jumped out of the way, but barely. Jin's grin mirrored Kurama's, and he dove forward to injure, but never kill. The two fought and talked and laughed, as if the entire contest did not rest upon their shoulders. Whoever won would fight Toshii, and after that wasn't even considered. Whoever won would advance, and whoever lost would go home without another thought to the princess. But that didn't matter, not when they fought. Not during the adrenaline rush or the easy camaraderie or the fluid movements that came from a body unhindered by armor.  
  
The crowd was awed, near-silent, staring at the two redheads locked in battle. Those in the front rows could hear snatches of their conversation. A few had the effrontery to laugh. Like two candles in the wind, the flames flickered and darted about one another, sliding over the dirt arena and scuffing their new boots until they bore the look of something wearable. Both were sweaty, dirty, grimy, and at least mildly bruised. The match had, by that point, lasted nearly an hour.  
  
Toshii had long before won his fight and had come to watch. Kurama grinned at him, and Jin raised his eyebrows. Jin's movement faltered in that one instant, and the slip sent him tumbling to the ground. His sword slammed against the wooden guardrail with a sick thud. A heartbeat later, Kurama had his sword to the other redhead's neck.   
  
"Shall I let you up, or will we call this a day?" Kurama asked softly, perfectly willing to back away and let the fight continue on. Perfectly willing to battle at stalemate all day. But Jin shook his head.  
  
"You won, fair and square." He reached out his hand, and Kurama took it. "We'll have to meet again. I'll stay to watch you."  
  
"I promise not to lose track of you. Don't mourn for the loss." Kurama cocked his head toward the grandstands. "You've shown your handsome face to many eligible maidens. You will by no means be lonely."  
  
Jin laughed. "You know that's not the point."  
  
"Of course not. But it's my best consolation. Until we meet again."  
  
"I'll win the next time."  
  
"So long as there's a next time."  
  
The two shook the hands neither had released, then Kurama dropped his sword and pulled Jin into a two-fisted hug. Blue-eyes stiffened at the contact. Kurama muttered, "Damn you and your sense of fair play." And Jin brought his arms up to Kurama's back, patting his shoulders and laughing in his ear.  
  
*  
  
In the downtime between matches, Kurama found himself a basin of water with which to wash out the scrapes he'd garnered. Alone. He probed almost affectionately at the bruises that stained his skin pink, knowing they would later rot to yellow and purple-black. He did not allow himself to think of what came next.  
  
He pulled back into his clothing, the dirty, bloody things they had become, and sauntered outside in search of Jin's brilliant shock of red hair. He found it almost immediately and came to him, leaning against the partition that kept the spectators from the fighters.  
  
"How are you feeling?"  
  
"I'll feel it in the morning," Jin replied, crossing his eyes and rubbing at his sword arm. "You too, I'll wager." He grinned. "Are you excited? The entire stadium's been talking about you. You might actually survive." Jin cut himself off, and took on a slightly conspiratorial tone. He glanced over his shoulder so his first words were lost to Kurama. "...let you live. Because..."  
  
Kurama frowned a little bit, fingering the sword at his belt. The thoughts he'd forced down all morning rose unbidden to his brain. What would he do were he in Toshii's polished, pristine boots? He knew, and he didn't like the thought of it. To Jin, he murmured, "Do you, knowing what you do, believe he would let me marry the princess? And bring that to the family of the prince? A man like that, based upon honor and hired...hired to protect her would not step down." Kurama squared his shoulders. "If I live, it is by my own merit alone."  
  
Jin slowly, so slowly, reached out and put a hand on Kurama's shoulder. "Luck to you."  
  
"I want to fight you again." They shook hands and Kurama turned to see Toshii waiting for him, standing with every affect of apathy in the ring.   
  
He did not trust this man. Not in the slightest. He was comfortable in conversation with him, yes. He had recently entered a physical relationship with him, yes. He was thoroughly and utterly enamored with him, yes. But he did not trust him. Kurama, of all people, knew the treacheries of men as he had committed so many himself. And Toshii...no, Hiei. Hiei knew that. Hiei was a prince who was willing to kill to keep his sister's chastity. He was a man of honor only when it applied to himself. As Toshii he was dirty and ugly as any of the urchins Kurama had come across, once he dropped his pride. There had been days between the happy-go-lucky times. There had been nights without conversations. There had been bruises and blood beyond what Kurama let Kuwabara see. There had been words. Kurama did not trust him, and was sure the feeling was returned.   
  
"Thief," Toshii greeted.  
  
"Liar," Kurama returned. And was at ease. He did not trust this man, but he knew him. And knew that though there was no trust, Toshii was thoroughly and utterly enamored with him as well.  
  
They dove for one another at the same split second, Kurama pushing himself harder than he had with Jin. There was something to prove here. His body was exhausted from the long morning, from overextending himself, but it was just another fifty miles' walk to get to the next town before the sun dropped below the horizon. It was just another three days on apples alone. So he feinted and blocked and jabbed and at one point managed to tear Toshii's sleeve.   
  
The smaller man appeared fresh, having merely warmed up in the prior fight. But he was obviously enjoying this. A small, strange smile quirked the corner of his mouth, and the fringe of hair that came out from beneath his bandanna stuck down to his forehead and neck with perspiration. At one point a dodge took him to a knee, so his perfect clothes were marred beyond the superficial slice Kurama had inflicted. Toshii charged at him and Kurama managed to block, but not without being driven back a good yard. They stood a few feet apart, eyes locked and heavy breathing shaking their shoulders. And, in motions that took aeons, Toshii calmly and steadily raised his sword until it pierced the skin under Kurama's chin. Blood welled around it, tiny as a pinprick, and Kurama stood still as stone.  
  
Only he heard Toshii's next words. Kurama grinned, baring all of his teeth, and dropped his sword. The battle was won. 


	21. Interim II

A/N: I am DONE! It's over. You may not be satisfied with the ending, but I can't continue on. It'd go far downhill from here, and I think I managed to wrench some meaning out of this piddly little fic. So enjoy.  
  
Woo! This fic is old enough to drink! (hee, sorry, couldn't resist...)  
  
Thanks a billion to everybody who reviewed - I'm glad you enjoyed this, and I'm not sorry at all that I'm ending it here. The rest is left to your imagination. Waha!  
  
***  
  
The headache that had given Kurama no trouble the day before was greatly amplified by every snore thundering out of Kuwabara's throat that morning. He rolled over, burying his face in the pallet, and gently probed at the lessening lump at the back of his head. All the prior day's activity and exhaustion had left him sore and in quite a fair amount of much more active pain.   
  
He was allowed to stay in the palace with Kuwabara even though he'd lost his match. And if he'd stayed anywhere else, he would have raised suspicions. However, the two finalists were guests of the prince, and the third set the precedent. It was the prince's decree that he stay to watch the final match. Kurama grinned though his bruised lips raised mild protest. Final match nothing.  
  
Toshii had beaten him in the ring. They had watched as Kuwabara had beaten some talented, arrogant roughneck by the name of Shishiwakamaru and left together. Toshii had known how tired Kurama was. Had known how he would feel in the morning. Had known exactly how to work the knots out of tense and aching muscles so blood flowed hot and healing beneath Kurama's skin. It was a vaguely healing touch, and Kurama thought of no sexual pretense. Toshii allowed him to fall asleep where he had collapsed. Toshii had asked Puu to bring food for them in his room. Kurama had opened his eyes to a tray of meat and fruit and returned Toshii's favor while they ate. And then he'd slipped to his room before Kuwabara could notice his absence.  
  
While Kurama's back gave him no problem, every extension throbbed dully. His legs ached, unused to running for prolonged periods after days of only walking. His arms, particularly his sword arm, screamed with every movement after enduring blow after jarring blow. And the headache that had vacationed when adrenaline muscled in had returned full force to make up for that little blip. He was actually quite glad he had no more battles to win. Or lose.  
  
Kurama slowly rolled over and hoisted himself up onto his elbows. His vision swam so much that nausea caused him to lay back again. He closed his eyes and blearily wondered why Kuwabara's snoring wasn't as loud as it had been.  
  
*  
  
Apples. Water and freshness and tangible autumn. Kurama opened his eyes against bright sunlight, blinking rapidly to clear his vision and adapt to the light. Through his eyelids, the day was red. The room smelled of apples, over the smell of sleep and the ever-present dirt-musk of Kuwabara.  
  
"It's not like you to sleep in," a familiar voice murmured. "You were always up before the sun. Don't tell me you're getting lazy."  
  
Kurama threw an arm over his eyes. "You're as witty as you ever were, Highness." The use of an old nickname was mildly satisfying. "Damn you for being able to move."  
  
"You had a hard day. Eat something; it's almost midday."  
  
"Yes, mother." Kurama held out a hand and Toshii dropped an apple into it. He bit in and was surprised at the quality of it. The skin was cold and crisp, like it had been picked some morning where frost was coming. But, Kurama reminded himself, royalty had access to ungodly luxuries such as ice in summer. He sat up and leaned over his crossed legs to eat the rest of it, getting used to a vertical position.  
  
"Where are you going after tomorrow?" Toshii asked softly. Kurama had yet to look at him.  
  
Kurama shrugged. "I don't know. There are no guarantees, are there?" He turned to look at Toshii. The smaller man was sitting on Kuwabara's straightened pallet, legs efficiently crossed and his elbows on his knees. He looked not much worse for wear, his unmarred expression utterly unreadable. "Are you going to let him win?"  
  
Toshii considered this. "Not in so few words. If he earns it."  
  
Kurama studied his apple core, his chin on his hand. "To earn it would be to beat you."  
  
"I know that."  
  
"Do you think he can?"  
  
"No." This was not bragging, but an honest estimate.  
  
"So your sister shall not marry," Kurama murmured, taking another apple from the tray he found by his side and biting in. It was cold.  
  
"I am going to speak with him tonight. What he tells me will determine whether or not she marries."  
  
Kurama swallowed. Without half the gravity the question required, he asked, "Where am I going after tomorrow?"  
  
"That also depends upon Kuwabara."  
  
Kurama smiled a little. "You're putting a lot upon his shoulders."  
  
"Yes." Toshii had not moved, but his eyes darted to his lap at that moment, a flicker of uncertainty. There was quite a load upon Kuwabara, and the half-wit unknowingly bore it to its breaking point. But this was a situation Toshii knew not how to handle himself. This way, the blame could be placed on a lug with a dream of marrying a princess. On a thief with a conscience.  
  
"Hey." Toshii looked up again and saw Kurama smiling wearily at him. He raised an eyebrow. Kurama set the apple core by the other one and reached out, resting his hand on Toshii's knee. "Sounds good to me."  
  
*  
  
Kuwabara was sitting in the courtyard, staring at his boots. Kurama found him this way and surmised he'd been like that since he'd gotten up that morning. The brute jumped a foot when Kurama greeted him.  
  
"You snuck up on me!"  
  
"Nervous?" Kurama asked, sliding down to sit beside him. Kuwabara nodded, smiling weakly. Kurama smiled back. "Well, you know -he- doesn't want to marry the princess, so what have you got to worry about?"  
  
Kuwabara stared at him as if he were an idiot. "A lot! He doesn't want -me- to marry her, that's the thing."  
  
"So long as you understand that." Kurama's smile never faltered, and he reached up to pat Kuwabara between the shoulders. "But hey, you've still got your lucky nail, right?"  
  
Kuwabara reached inside his tunic and pulled the thing out. He fingered the bent metal as he did the fine plates at mealtimes. As if it might break beneath his rough hands. "Yeah. D'you know, it saved my life?"  
  
Kurama leaned on his knees. "Is that so?"  
  
"Yeah. See, yesterday when I was fighting that Shishi guy, he caught me off guard." Kuwabara laughed softly in some semblance of playing it off. "And he was going to gut me but this thing came off its chain and got through the hole in his faceplate where his eyes were. I don't think I'd of won if he'd of had both eyes to fight me with. So it's -really- lucky." He smiled down at the charm in his hands and stuffed it back under his shirt. "Pop. Just like that."  
  
Kurama knew Kuwabara didn't like his fighting style, didn't like battle without honor. And the disability a supposedly lucky charm inflicted upon his opponent left Kuwabara's victory with the stigma of dishonesty. Worse, the brutality of the injury was disgusting. Kuwabara's muscles shuddered under his skin. He really was a kitten sometimes. Kurama had always liked him for that. "You shouldn't let it bother you so much. Think instead about why you entered this contest in the first place."  
  
Kuwabara grinned at that. "Princess. A princess for my wife. I didn't think I'd get this close."  
  
"You told me she was pretty."  
  
"She's beautiful." Kuwabara laughed softly. "But if you see her you'll know she's his sister. It's so obvious when you know." He put his chin on his hand. "But if you don't know you don't see it. Nobody else has figured it out."  
  
"I think we can chalk that up to the stupidity of the common man," Kurama replied, his tone coming easy. "And anyway, he moves too fast for them to get a good look."  
  
Kuwabara groaned and covered his face with his hands. "Don't remind me. I'm as good as dead. I can't move that fast!"  
  
Kurama smiled. "You don't have to. You just have to be able to see -him- moving." He paused a moment. "And take your damn' armor off or you'll never have a chance." Kuwabara gave him a horrified look, but he stared into it until his companion relented. He smiled. "You're too honest for your own good."  
  
Kuwabara grinned. "And you lie too much."  
  
The conversation dropped away then, as the two sat on their bench in the courtyard. The sun shone brightly, birds sang in the trees, and various beautiful people drifted about in their aloof and mannered ways. Thieves they were, among jewels in fine clothes, each uncertain but ultimately comfortable in their respective niches. There were nerves, but no panic. There were thoughts of tomorrow, but life fundamentally in the present. And there was trust borne of thousands of days with only one another, and friendship deeper than bone. Toshii saw that, and understood as best he could.  
  
The decision rested on Kuwabara's shoulders from the very start, the only true knight of the three. 


End file.
